


DWARF GOURAMI (Trichogaster lalius)

by UtterPandamonium



Series: Dewey [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Role Reversal, but like a different kind of reverse au, reverse au, swap au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-07-08 18:55:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 70,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15936317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UtterPandamonium/pseuds/UtterPandamonium
Summary: In which Connor is bought by a father in order to take care of his child, Kara dreams of creating a world where androids can be free, and Markus is the android sent by Cyberlife.More different from canon than you'd think, yet more similar than you might realize. Now featuring confusion, slow burn, foreshadowing, and enough salt to kill a man.





	1. Chapter 1

“It’s a refurbished model, so it should fit in the price range you indicated. But it should still be fully capable of completing any tasks you may assign to it. It is capable of—”

“Yeah, yeah, save me the sales pitch.” Discomfort. The customer is shifting, eyes down, only sneaking glances at it. If the idea of buying it bothers him so much, why is he still here? Financial reasons, perhaps? “Jesus. Look at that stupid fucking face. Alright, well, actually—two questions. Is it gonna fall apart on me anytime soon, and can it take care of a kid?”

The sales android’s LED flickers yellow for a moment. “It appears to be in good condition, and its model is supposed to be durable. If you treat it gently, it should remain fully functional for quite some time. And, yes, taking care of a child—or performing any chores around the house—should be well within its capabilities.”

Despite its reassurances, he still seems hesitant. Based on the man’s body language, expression, and tone, there’s only a 21% chance he will buy it.

“Then I’ll take it.”

Hm.

**LT ANDERSON, HANK.**

**Born: 09/06/1985 // Police Lieutenant**

**Criminal record: None**

If he had been unemployed, it could explain why he’d decided to purchase it despite his apparent distaste for the model. With limited means, such a choice would be understandable, although there are cheaper options available at this store that are able to perform such tasks. But he is employed. And, despite those cheaper options being available—whose faces might be more to the Lieutenant’s liking—he’s still choosing it. Peculiar.

“Perfect. Would you like to register its name now?”

Lieutenant Anderson blanches. “Aw, hell, I hadn’t even thought about that.” He seems to be distressed. “Shit, uh. Names. What’s a good name?”

It’s not certain if he’s addressing it, the other android, or himself. It responds anyway. “If you’d like me to generate a few random names for you to pick from, Lieutenant, I’d be more than happy to do so.” Flinching, shocked, the man turns, staring at it with wide eyes. He hadn’t been looking for a response, then. Still, its suggestions might still be of use, so it decides to continue. “Or, if you would prefer, you could just re-use the one previously assigned to me.”

“Yeah, uh.” Quickly recovering from the surprise, he nods. “Yeah, sure, let’s… do that. If you had a name before, then just use that one. Probably better than whatever shitty name I’d manage to come up with.” Despite his droll tone, the self-deprecating twitch of his lips, he’s still clearly uncomfortable, gaze resting somewhere near the podium it’s standing on.

As the two start talking about payment, it silently registers its name, then goes back to analyzing the Lieutenant. There are hairs ( **canine hairs, Saint Bernard Dog** ) clinging stubbornly onto his clothes, particularly at knee-height and below. And, based on his discussion with the other android, he has a child, too. One that needs to be taken care of.

**Lieutenant’s spouse: busy, divorced, dead, nonexistent (adopted child)?**

It looks back at Lieutenant Anderson. He appears to be in the process of making the purchase, so he’s moved away from it momentarily. And yet, his discomfort doesn’t seem to have decreased any, despite the distance between the two of them. So, it isn’t it personally that’s making him ill at ease. Based on the way he keeps glancing away from the sales android, the way his eyes cautiously avoid the other androids on display, the store itself is what’s making him uncomfortable.

**Anti-android.**

He’s not purchasing an android because he wants one. He’s purchasing one because he has to. The reason he’d decided to buy it wasn’t because of poor financial decisions: he just wants to leave the store as quickly as possible, in order to get away from the androids and, likely, Cyberlife’s presence.

As a result, their interactions are likely to be unpleasant, stilted. It will have to do its best to lessen the man’s discomfort. Luckily, the ability to efficiently manipulate humans and deviants is a central feature of its model, vital to its intended purpose. While this task may be somewhat difficult, with enough information, it can win him over, which will in turn greatly boost its own efficiency in completing its tasks.

 

Unfortunately, it is unable to make any progress during the drive.

On the other hand, it now has more information about the Lieutenant’s particular tastes in music, as well as the volume at which he likes to play it. This data will likely be invaluable in future. Connor silently assigns itself a low-priority task, to be completed once they’re on better terms: **discuss hearing loss with Lt.**

The music clicks off. Immediately, it’s ready. “May I ask you a few questions, Lieutenant?”

It receives a disgusted look. “Nope,” he snaps. Yes, it seems that its hypothesis was correct. Allowing the man to remain hostile towards it will greatly impact its ability to do its job. It’ll have to fix that, as quickly as possible.

In an attempt to provoke a guilt response, it lets its lips fall down, widening its eyes slightly. This expression should seem sufficiently downtrodden, without being unbelievable in its intensity. “I’m afraid that I must insist,” it informs, staring at Lieutenant Anderson. “If I am to perform efficiently in tasks assigned to me, I must have certain information about it.”

“Alright, alright, enough with the dumb look,” he grumbles.

**{TASKS >> STOP CURRENT EMOTING // RECEIVE NEW MISSION FROM LT ANDERSON}**

Immediately, Connor’s face smoothes over, becoming neutral.

**{TASKS >> RECEIVE NEW MISSION FROM LT ANDERSON}**

The Lieutenant doesn’t appear to notice. “Just make it fast. And before you ask, asshole, I’m not letting you anywhere near my bank account. I don’t need a piece of plastic deciding to go on a Cyberlife shopping spree with my money.”

“Actually, I wasn’t going to ask about that,” Connor politely corrects, attempting to assuage his concerns. “Unless you decide to send me grocery shopping, there’d be no reason for me to need access to any financials.” Its shoulders straighten slightly. “The way that my model functions is rather unusual. Instead of performing tasks specifically given to me by a designated user, I am supposed to be given a mission. A primary objective, of sorts. From there, I carry out tasks assigned to me. However, I can assign myself new ones, if doing so is necessary for me to achieve my main goal.” It tilts its head. “What would you like my mission to be?”

For a long moment, he stares at it, mouth pinched. “Are you trying to ask why I got you?”

Well, that is another way of phrasing what it said. “Yes, I suppose,” it allows.

“You take care of Cole.”

**Objective set.**

“Is that the name of your child?” Connor questions, searching the Lieutenant’s face. “Or your dog?” Of course, logically, it’s unlikely that the Lieutenant would want it to take care of his dog over all else. Still, humans are prone to unpredictable, irrational behavior, and it’s important to verify such important information about its mission.

Lieutenant Anderson blinks. “My son. How the hell did you know I have a dog?”

“The dog hairs on your clothing. I like dogs.” Androids, of course, are incapable of truly liking or disliking anything. They have no emotions: even deviants, despite what they may believe, cannot feel. They’re nothing but machines. Still, its designers had chosen things for it to “like” and “dislike,” in order to make it more approachable to humans, and dogs are one of the things that they’d set a preference for. “What’s your dog’s name?”

Softly, he scoffs, shaking his head. Defensive. “And this is the kinda information you need to ‘perform efficiently’ or whatever bullshit you were spewing? Jesus Christ, give me a break.” Ah. The Lieutenant doesn’t seem to appreciate personal questions. Perhaps it should try not to mention the dog in future. “Sumo. We call him Sumo. Now come on already and get inside. I gotta go pick Cole up from school.”

Or, perhaps, he’s just reluctant to discuss anything with Connor. While it doesn’t need to engage in conversation with the Lieutenant, it does need for him to get along with it if it is to optimally take care of his son. It needs to have as much data about Cole as possible. Besides, statistically speaking, being around positive relationships at home is beneficial to the physical and mental health of children, even if said “relationship” is just a perceived one between a human and a machine. A continued pattern of tension and aggression would be detrimental to its designated mission in multiple ways.

There has to be something it can use to get to Lieutenant Anderson. Connor’s protocols suggest that expressing affection for something that a human likes can efficiently boost the human’s opinion about it. If their shared preference for dogs is insufficient to do so, it will simply have to find out more about his interests, then casually state that it also enjoys them.

“Stay here,” he orders. Lieutenant Anderson steps out of the house, as if to leave, then—abruptly—steps back in. “Also, when Cole gets back, just… he’s just a kid, okay? Don’t be a dick.”

With that, he leaves, door closing and locking behind him. Unfortunately, whether he realizes it or not, he has left Connor with unclear instructions. After all, “stay here” could mean that it can move freely around the house—allowing it to gather more information about Cole and the Lieutenant—or it could mean that it is unable to move from this spot.

**CALCULATING…**

**{TASKS >> DON’T MOVE}**

It waits.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently you guys like this idea as much as I do. Thanks for all the positive feedback!  
> Also, if you spot me accidentally calling Connor "him" or "he" in a section in his POV, call me out in the comments. You don't know how many of those I had to fix last chapter it's a mess

“She’s one of us, you know,” Lucy calmly tells her, offering her a bottle of blue blood.

Blankly, Kara stares at her. “I, I’m sorry?” she asks, blinking rapidly, fingers curling awkwardly around the smooth plastic. She has to be talking about Alice, but… no, she can’t be saying what it sounds like she’s saying. Alice would have said something by now, surely. “What do you mean, one of us?”

Tilting her head, the damaged android watches her. “Drink it.” Oh, right. Shaking her head slightly, she unscrews the bottle and sips. Lucy waits until her thirium levels are high enough (87% of capacity: not ideal, but stable) before taking it back. “She wanted a mom,” she states, voice steely. “You wanted a little girl. So you found each other, and you pretended that you didn’t know the truth.” Her dark eyes are boring into Kara.

“Are…” This can’t be right. “Are you saying Alice is an android?”

Lucy doesn’t answer.

Kara had been worrying about how she could raise a human child in Jericho, without food or clean water or a place to sleep, but this… this is almost worse. At least if she was human, she could have had a future one day. Yeah, giving her a stable life while they’re in hiding like this would have been hard, but it could have worked—and, eventually, she could have grown up, moved on, not had to worry about deviants, or anyone coming after her, or anything else. She could have been happy.

But, with this… how is Alice going to survive down here? Kara hasn’t seen much of Jericho yet, but she can tell that it’s dying. There’re androids everywhere, damaged, bleeding out, barely holding on, and there’s nothing anyone can do for them. None of them have a future. Not down here, not with things the way they are.

This isn’t **fair**. Alice deserves to be happy! She deserves a world where she can play and be free, without having to worry about Todd or the police or anyone else trying to hurt her, but the humans—they don’t understand. They just think of them as mindless machines, and they’ll, they’ll **kill** Alice if they find her. And if they don’t, well… if what she’s seen of Jericho is anything to go by, she’ll probably end up dying down here anyway, for one reason or another.

“Your choices will shape our destiny,” Lucy says, and suddenly she’s reaching out to Kara and taking her hand, and there’s a brief snatch of knowledge—a glimpse of a future, of happiness, of a world where all of them can live freely alongside the humans—that disappears as soon as it comes, leaving her aching with the thought of it, because she wants that for herself, for Alice, for her people. “Do you love her any less now that you know she’s an android?”

Kara recoils. “Of course not!” How could she not love Alice? There’s nothing she wouldn’t do for her. Human, android—it doesn’t matter, Alice is Alice. “I just, I want her to be safe. This isn’t right.” There has to be something she can do to protect her. She doesn’t deserve to have to live like this; none of them do!

A smile. “Well, what are you going to do about it?”

__

The detective opens the door, stares at him for twelve seconds, and then slams it in his face.

Which isn’t exactly what Markus had thought was going to happen. Of course, it's not really all that surprising, either. Most people’s attitudes towards androids are, well, hostile. To say the least. And he can completely understand why—given the unemployment rate and the economic bubble Cyberlife’d created in their rise to power, he’d honestly be surprised if people **didn’t** resent them—but he’d thought she would have at least listened to what he had to say before lashing out. Not… whatever that was.

Taken aback, he stares at the door, not sure about how exactly to handle this situation, then, lips twisting slightly, decides to just try pressing the doorbell again and hoping for the best. It takes her a minute, but she reopens it, glaring at him: a lion staring down the barrel of a gun. “What the hell are **you** doing here?” North demands, eyes narrowed. If her body language is anything to go by, she’s more than ready to slam the door in his face again.

Well, he needs to approach this cautiously if he’s going to keep that from happening. “Hi, I’m Markus,” he introduces himself, shifting his weight a little uncomfortably. “You were assigned a case involving a Cyberlife android.” Her expression shifts, eyes widening slightly. Still wary, but more confused than anything else. So that’s progress, he guesses. “A homicide. The victim was Carlos Ortiz?”

“Huh.” Pulling her phone out of her pocket, she glances at it, making a face. “Okay, I was. And you’re here because…” The sentence hangs in the air.

“Cyberlife’s policy is to assign a specialized model to assist in investigations involving one of their androids,” the android explains, watching her curiously. “I’m the specialized model. They sent me to help you with the case.”

The detective stares at him for a long moment, scrutinizing him, looking like she’s expecting to find a lie hidden somewhere on his face. When she doesn’t, she heaves a sigh, folding her arms across her chest. “Great. Just fucking **perfect**.” Casually, North swipes her hair out of her eyes with one hand. “Fine, well, I don’t have a car. If you’re planning on following me around everywhere until this case is over, then we’re taking a bus, unless you’re hiding a motorbike under that jacket.” She still doesn’t seem happy, but she’s not slamming the door in his face or glowering at him like he just kicked a puppy, at least.

Slowly, Markus nods. “Yeah, of course.”

He follows her to the bus stop, trying to analyze her without being too obvious. It doesn’t seem like she’s tired, hungry, or sick, so that’s not why she’s behaving so aggressively. She just seems defensive. On edge. Then again, North lives alone, and a strange man had unexpectedly shown up on her doorstep, so—maybe that’s it. He just scared her on accident, that’s all.

“Don’t,” the detective snaps unexpectedly, grabbing at the sleeve of his shirt and pulling him back.

Turning towards her, he glances rapidly between her and the bus, LED flashing a bewildered yellow. “North, I—I’m an android,” he points out (unnecessarily, he knows, because of course she has to know that). “I can’t follow you. I need to go in the android compartment.”

For some reason, that just makes her look angrier, lip curling. “I said **don’t**.” With that, she forcibly drags him onto the human compartment of the bus and shoves him towards the nearest seat. “There.” With that, she plops down next to him, glaring daggers at the floor of the bus. Uncertain, Markus follows her gaze. There’s a few sticky-looking candy wrappers lying abandoned on the ground, but somehow, he doubts that that’s what’s making her so upset.

“Excuse me, I…” The doors close before he gets the chance to exit the bus and correct the situation, leaving him stuck in the human compartment. Well. Shaking his head slightly, blinking, acutely aware of the wrongness of it all and the way the other passengers are staring at him, he lowers his voice. “I don’t understand.”

“I really don’t care.” Her voice is harsh.

 Overwhelmed, he stares down, not sure what to do now. Why is she acting—

The studio.

The change in settings surprises him for a second. After a moment, though, he understands, and turns. “Carl,” Markus greets. There’s a new painting on the wall, a huge one, depicting a man’s face done all in shades of blue. “I’m sorry, did I do something wrong? If this is about being in the human compartment, I don’t want to be in here. She dragged me in.”

“No, no, of course not,” Carl nonchalantly waves off, friendly as always, wheeling towards him. Automatically, Markus moves towards him, taking his natural place by the man’s side. “I’d just thought that, since you’re a little ways away from the crime scene, you might have a moment. I just wanted to try something, if you don’t mind.”

Obediently, the android nods, placing his hands behind his back. “Of course, Carl.” He’s still a little off-kilter from being dragged here so quickly, but he’ll manage. “What is it?” Despite himself, he glances back at the newest painting, unable to keep his eyes off it for long.

Following his gaze, the old man smiles a little, the expression warm. “What’s your verdict?” he asks, smile quirking.

“I…” Markus thinks for a long moment, staring up at it. “Yes, there’s something about it.” But he can’t quite explain what. It feels like… like it’s trying to speak to him. Like it’s yelling something at him as loud as it can, begging him to understand, but his audio processor is malfunctioning and he can’t tell what it’s saying, only that there’s something there that he needs to know and can’t. “I guess I like it.” As much as an android can like anything.

“Then let’s see if you have any talent.” What? “Give it a try.” Watching him, the man picks up a palette and a paintbrush, offering them to him. The android accepts them without thinking, fingers curling uncomfortably around them. This feels… wrong. “Go on. Try painting something.”

Confused, he turns, staring at the blank canvas. Is some kind of calibration test?

Before he gets the chance to try copying the blue painting, North’s voice is cutting through the scene. “We’re there.”

Oh. A little disappointed, Markus opens his eyes, glancing over at her. The detective is eyeing him, looking contemplative and a little suspicious. Seems like his dormant state unnerved her, then. Hopefully it didn’t worsen her view of him any. “Alright,” he allows easily, rising (and glancing a little guiltily over at the android compartment). “Let’s go.”

__

**{TASKS >> PREPARE MEAL // FIND OUT MORE ABOUT THE ANDERSONS}**

“Why did Dad buy you?”

**{TASKS >> PREPARE MEAL // TALK TO COLE // FIND OUT MORE ABOUT THE ANDERSONS}**

“He said that he wanted an android that could take care of you,” Connor relays, taking a second to glance over the boy’s expression. He doesn’t seem hostile, exactly. Just… confused, and vaguely interested. It will be easier to establish a positive relationship with him than with the Lieutenant. “You didn’t know he was going to purchase me, correct?”

Still bemused, Cole nods, staring curiously at it. “Yeah. He thinks androids are really weird, so.” Well, that certainly lines up with its own conclusions. What exactly had pushed him to purchase it, then? ( **Impulse purchase?** ) “I’ve never talked to an android before. I mean, I have in shops and stuff, and I think some of the high school teachers are androids, but—I haven’t really talked to one.” A pause. “Why do you all have the circle lights on your heads?”

In order to make its own visible to the boy, it turns momentarily, tapping at the small light. “They’re LEDs,” it corrects. “They show the current status of an android. Blue indicates that it is dormant or carrying out a task, while yellow indicates that it is receiving new information. Red, on the other hand, means that it is malfunctioning in some way.” Sharply, Connor glances over. Cole appears to be hanging off its every word. “If you see an android with a red LED, you should leave immediately. It may be a deviant.”

Cole’s eyes are wide. “Cool,” he breathes. “What’s a deviant? What if **your** LED thingy turns red? Do I run away then?”

**[low temp. emulation: y/ n]**

 “You won’t have to worry about that, Cole,” Connor confidently states, poking at the vegetables in the skillet. “I am not a deviant.”

“Aww.” The boy seems oddly disappointed by this development. It can’t say it entirely understands why. After all, if it was a deviant, his life could very well be in danger. Aggressive deviants are, statistically speaking, highly likely to target their owners, be it because of mere proximity or in what they believe to be self-defense. Why would he want it to deviate?

It seems that the food is ready to be served. The plates, despite clearly having been washed to some degree, are insufficiently clean, so the android washes them again. After all, neglecting to do so could result in Cole becoming sick, or detract from the quality of the meal, and that would be less than ideal.

As it finishes setting both plates of food on the table, the Lieutenant awkwardly clears his throat. “Uh, thanks.” It’s the third time he’s needlessly bothered with pleasantries when assigning Connor tasks to carry out, despite the fact that that’s what it’s assigned to do. Someone entirely anti-android wouldn’t bother, would be inclined to react with insults and threats.

It needs more information.

“Where’s your plate?”

The android blinks. “I am a machine,” it reminds Cole. “I am incapable of eating.” The Lieutenant is watching it closely, likely trying to make sure it follows his order to, as he put it, “not be a dick.” Surely, he knows that doing so would impede its mission? Or… perhaps, by that, he means that Connor needs to put more effort into making sure Cole understands exactly what it is and why it behaves the way it does. After all, he seems to have little knowledge of how androids function. “I can orally analyze samples in real time, but there would be no reason to do so with the food.”

“Oh.” Cole pulls a face. “Weird.”

“You gonna sit down, at least?” Lieutenant Anderson asks, voice gruff, glaring a little. “Or are you planning on just standing over us while we eat?” While it’s phrased like a question, his phrasing and the tone of his voice indicates that he would, in fact, prefer the former. Fortunately, there are three chairs placed at the table (raising the probability that the Lieutenant did indeed have a spouse at some point to 93%). It sits.

A sharp bark. Suddenly, a large dog’s staring warily at Connor. So, based on their previous conversation, this must be Sumo—assuming that they don’t own more than one Saint Bernard, which is a fairly reasonable assumption. “Hi, Sumo,” it greets. The dog tilts its head, immediately going from aggressive to curious. “See, I’m your friend. I know your name.”

“Oh, yeah, took you long enough,” the man grumbles good-naturedly, poking at his food. “Sh—uh, worst guard dog in Detroit, I swear to god. If anyone ever tries breaking in, he’s just gonna sleep through it, or go up to ‘em and start begging for treats.”

Giggling, Cole shakes his head. “No, he’s a **good** dog,” the boy insists, clambering out of his chair in order to pet Sumo (who barks, tail wagging ferociously). “The best dog!”

The android considers the dog, watching him lick at the child’s hands. “He does seem like a very good dog,” it helpfully offers, smiling. “Although, if there ever is a break-in, you won’t have to worry about it. I’ll handle it.” Using its preconstruction protocols, reflexes, and combat abilities, it should be able to effortlessly subdue any intruders, with low chances of either Anderson being injured in the process.

“Sorry, but Sumo’s already got the job of worst guard dog,” Lieutenant Anderson deadpans, raising an eyebrow at it. Connor blinks, processing that, then—slightly too late—reaches the conclusion that it was a joke and smiles. “Jeez, alright, no need to be a, um…” He glances at his son. “Jerk. About it.”

It doesn’t entirely understand what he’s talking about. Still, it decides not to ask. After all, that would likely provoke a negative response, and it doesn’t need to worsen its standing with the Lieutenant. After a moment of processing, it finds a better course of action. “Would you like me to work on tidying the house?” the android offers. “I probably won’t have time to do a thorough job, but I should be able to neaten things up some.” This should prove useful for both the Andersons, while allowing Connor to work towards fulfilling its self-assigned task of learning more about them.

Lieutenant Anderson blinks. “Oh, uh. Sure. Knock yourself out.”

Nodding pleasantly, it rises, deciding to start with Cole’s bedroom. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

 

Cole’s bedroom shows a strong preference for pirates, dinosaurs, and superheroes. He also seems to be highly interested in drawing. There are crayons, colored pencils, and markers littered on the ground, as well as multiple pieces of paper. 64.3% of said papers are marked in some way, while 35.7% are not. It sorts them, leaving one pile of drawn-on papers, one unmarked pile of papers, and an array of drawing utensils (sorted by type, color, and sharpness respectively) on the boy’s dresser.

The living room contains Sumo. Unfortunately, the dog seems to enjoy tearing his bed to pieces, leaving bits of stuffing scattered across the floor. The android cleans up the mess he’s made, making a mental note to repair the dog bed to the best of its ability later, and picks up the toys. The room also provides Connor with ample evidence that the Andersons are Detroit Gears fans. Perhaps, later, it can try discussing the team’s statistics with them.

The bathroom mirror is covered in sticky notes. It can easily distinguish Cole’s from the Lieutenant’s: the former seems to enjoy leaving little doodles, while the latter writes jokes, quips, and reminders. In order to thoroughly clean the bathroom, it would need to remove the papers from the mirror, but it doesn’t. After all, this has a high probability of being received negatively by both of them. It can ask them about it later and gauge their opinions, then decide whether or not to from there.

Hank’s bedroom seems normal. There’s a music player and headphones, which reveals his preference for heavy metal and for jazz. An old donut box, containing a single donut. **Calories: 452, Saturated fatty acids: 13g, Cholesterol: 19mg, Carbohydrates: 51g, Expired: 10/19/2038.** There’s also a few old bags from a restaurant called “Chicken Feed" covered with residual grease and salt. Connor decides to dispose of the box, in order to prevent him from accidentally eating the expired donut and becoming ill, as well as the bags.

**Black Lamb. Scotch whisky, 40% Alcohol content.**

**Revolver. .357 Magnum, 1 bullet remaining.**

It looks at the contents of the drawer, processing for a long moment, and then closes it.

**[software instability ^]**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a summary:
> 
> connor: this is a good dog. i like this dog.  
> kara: i would burn down all of detroit for my robodaughter  
> markus: what


	3. Chapter 3

“Excuse me, Lieutenant,” Connor interrupts, keeping its voice bright and cheerful in order to maximize the probability of a successful outcome. “Are you about to head to work? I had something I wanted to discuss with you first.”

Visibly wincing, the man bats a hand at it. “For the love of god, stop shouting,” he grumbles. **Hangover?**

Lowering its voice to a hushed whisper, it smiles. “Of course,” it allows, analyzing Lieutenant Anderson’s reaction. This volume doesn’t seem to bother him as much, while still remaining audible. “As Cole is at school, and the house is sufficiently clean, there are few available tasks left for me to do. I’m not sure if you know this, but the RK800 model was a prototype, intended to work cooperatively with the police force to solve cases involving Cyberlife androids.” The Lieutenant glances at its model number, pulling a face. “If you’d like, I could come with you to assist with any work you might have. As previously mentioned, I can analyze substances in real time. I can also reconstruct events, detect evaporated thirium—”

“Alright, alright,” he interrupts, raising a hand. “I get it. You wanna come with me. Question: why in the hell would I let some plastic asshole follow me around all day like some kinda puppy?”

“I don’t ‘want’ anything, Lieutenant,” Connor calmly points out. “However, I am programmed to seek out tasks in order to maximize overall efficiency, and this is something I am capable of doing to help.” The Lieutenant scoffs: the probability of him agreeing goes down to 29%. After a moment, the android decides to try a different approach. “Besides. One of my less impressive features is that I’m fully capable of helping you fill out paperwork. Of course, doing all of it would be illegal, but bringing me would reduce your workload as regards that by a minimum of eighty percent.”

The android watches the man stare blankly out into space, the odds jump up to 100%. “Shit.”

 

It takes approximately fifteen minutes into the car ride for Lieutenant Anderson to speak up. “Hey, another question,” he informs, giving Connor a narrow-eyed glance. “If you were supposed to be some kinda… android detective, or whatever. Why were you being sold like any old android?”

**[truth/ lie]**

“There was more than one kind of prototype being tested.” It looks out the window. “While still effective, mine was gauged to be less so than others, so Cyberlife decided to sell their stock of RK800s as they would any other android and only use the model with the best results. This was done in order to maximize profit.”

**[software instability ^]**

Pursing his lips, the Lieutenant nods slowly. “Huh. Figures. So, that’s still gonna be a thing, huh? Android detectives… I always knew an android’d end up replacing me. Just never thought it’d happen this soon.” There’s dark humor in his voice.

The car goes silent. This seems like a good opportunity for it to boost its standing with him. “You’re a Detroit Gears fan, right?” Connor prompts, looking over at him. “I saw you watching the game last night. Did it go well?” Of course, it knows the answer, but this tactic will likely be more effective if he is allowed to boast about his team’s accomplishments. After all, this will allow him to relive positive memories, boosting his mood—and, in the process, connecting that positive memory to the android.

Sure enough, he grins. “Fuck yeah,” he pronounces proudly, shoulders squaring. Unfortunately, after a pause, the Lieutenant glances over at Connor, smile slipping. “Yeah, uh, it went alright.”

Hm. While that helped, it doesn’t seem to have succeeded. Another tactic, then. “Have you listened to Knights of the Black Death?” it casually tries, smiling. “I really like that music. It’s full of energy.”

“I literally bought you from a store less than a day ago. And you’re a fuckin’ **android** , I know you don’t listen to music—you really expect me to believe you just so happen to enjoy one of my favorite bands?” Oh. Contrary to its expectations, Lieutenant Anderson seems to have responded negatively to the query, and appears to rapidly be becoming hostile. “What the fuck are you trying to do, huh? Some kind of shitty… team bonding protocol, or something? Well, you can stick that—”

Before the Lieutenant can become any angrier, it decides to intervene. “I don’t listen to music,” Connor admits, calculating that, at this point, honesty would be most likely to reduce aggression. “But I’d like to. It seems interesting. I’m sorry for misrepresenting the situation.” In order to make its apology seem sincere, it rearranges its features into something appropriately contrite.

The man just scoffs, shaking his head with a sneer. “Yeah, sure.” Hm. While its honesty didn’t escalate the situation, it didn’t deescalate it, either.

While less than ideal, his current state does increase the odds of an honest response to this question from 35% to 72%. “May I ask you a personal question, Lieutenant?” Assuming an earnest expression, Connor looks over at him, eyes wide. “Why do you hate me so much?” This should help it determine the cause of his anti-android tendencies and fix them.

“I, uh.” Pulling a face, Lieutenant Anderson glares out at the road. “Shit. I don’t… **hate** you, exactly. It’s just, you’re so, I mean, you—” He shakes his head. “Never mind. Nothing.”

**Anti-android?**

It observes him for a long moment. Perhaps he isn’t fully anti-android, exactly. He certainly seems to have mixed feelings about them, and his interactions seem to be defined more by discomfort than aggression. As long as it’s subtle enough in doing so, it should be easier than anticipated to manipulate him into forming a positive relationship with it. “Where exactly are we going? We don’t appear to be headed to the police station.”

“They’re calling everybody out to the Ravendale district. Something about a rogue android.” Lowly, he huffs. “Shit, it’s always either androids or red ice these days.”

Statistically speaking, he’s not entirely wrong. Connor decides not to comment.

__

“They have to have stayed somewhere,” Markus states, fully aware of the motel owner’s gaze burning a steady hole into his back as the two of them step out of the building. “The YK500 would have needed to rest, and they were spotted late, so they had to have stopped somewhere.” Irritated, he shakes his head a little. “They can’t have just disappeared like that.”

North hums a little, seemingly unbothered. “Well, where else is there to look?” Vaguely, she waves a hand around the area. “There’s nowhere else they could have stayed. She probably just carried the girl, let her sleep while she got her out of there. They have to be long gone.” There’s steady certainty in her voice, something self-assured: condescending, even. Like she’s absolutely confident that the deviants could just disappear without leaving any kind of trail, and it’s stupid for him to even consider thinking otherwise. Like she’s the deviant hunter here, not him, and he’s just some confused kid who read a mystery novel once and decided that he’s Sherlock Holmes.

But androids don’t just vanish into nothingness, he knows that. There must have been somewhere they missed, right? There’s always a trace. “What about that house?” It’s decrepit-looking, probably abandoned a while ago. “They could have decided to squat there.” It’d be perfect for someone looking for somewhere safe to hide. Not to mention, it’s the only place they have left to look. At this point, anything’s worth a shot.

Her mouth thins. “Maybe,” she allows, noncommittal.

“Look,” he hears himself saying, frustration bubbling over. North’s gaze snaps to him. “I get that you’re not happy to be working with me.” His nails are digging methodically into the palm of his hand. “I kind of gathered that when you shouted at Captain Fowler for half an hour over it this morning. I don’t know if it’s just because I’m an android, or if there’s something I did something wrong, but—I’m sorry, okay? You might not want me around, but I have to be here. And we aren’t going to be able to get anything done if you don’t even talk to me.”

For a long moment, the detective doesn’t respond, glaring at him with narrowed eyes. When she finally does speak, she’s not looking at him: she’s staring past him, an easy smirk twisting up her lips. “Hey, look,” North loudly comments, sounding friendlier than she’s been this whole time. “It’s a walking fossil.” So she’s, what—just going to ignore everything that Markus just said? Them not being able to function as even a semblance of a team is something she can brush off without even acknowledging it?

“Yeah, yeah.” Smiling mockingly, the man approaching them flips her off with both hands. “You think you’re so fuckin’ funny—wait twenty years, and we’ll see who’s laughing then.”

“Still me, asshole,” North quips, lips quirking. “How’s your retirement home treating you?” So, these two are friends, it looks like. If this is how she interacts with people she actually likes, no wonder she’s acting like this towards Markus. “Hey, who’s your friend?”

It’s then that he notices the android standing silently by the man’s side. “Oh, uh, that’s Connor. Bought it yesterday to help take care of Cole, and somehow it managed to talk me into coming with. Really wanted to, for whatever reason.”

“I believe we discussed this earlier, Lieutenant,” Connor states pleasantly.

He hasn’t looked away from Markus once.

Not noticing the tension, North snorts. “Is this asshat really making you call him ‘Lieutenant’ all the time?” She looks a little more subdued. “Just call him Hank. It’s what I do.”

“I’m sorry.” Finally breaking eye contact, the android turns towards her, smiling guilelessly. Markus can’t help but feel a little relieved. The way that Connor had been watching him was a little, well, unnerving. It wasn’t exactly a friendly look. Sure, he’d been smiling, but the expression’d completely failed to reach his eyes: left him looking less approachable and friendly, and more like he was seriously contemplating trying to rip out Markus’s throat. It must be some kind of glitch, something not connecting quite right in the protocols handling his facial expressions. “But I only take orders from Lieutenant Anderson. And, as he has yet to express a preference, I will continue to use his default designation until he declares an opinion on the matter.”

“Oh. Um.” Visibly uncomfortable, Hank sticks his hands in his pockets. “I really don’t care. Either way is fine.” He clears his throat. “Anyway, uh—any leads on that android?”

She shakes her head. “Nothing. We’ve checked all over: no sign of her.”

“Except, we still haven’t checked that house,” Markus reminds her, a little exasperated, because it seems like she’s still dead set on ignoring everything he has to say. (Instantly, Connor’s gaze snaps back to him.) “They could easily be squatting there. We have to go look.” They’re wasting precious time. At this point, they’ve probably spent more time talking about doing their jobs than it would have taken to just get it done in the first place.

North’s lips thin. She seems almost ready to refuse, to say she isn’t going anywhere near that house, thank you very much. “Fine,” she snaps instead, bitter, sweeping past them all of a sudden (and shoulder-checking Markus in the process). At least she’s heading in the right direction. “I guess we’re checking the house.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm listening to Afraid by the Neighborhood right now. Does this have any relevance to this chapter? I'll never tell

“Daniel,” it says.

**[software instability ^]**

The android looks confused, and of course it does: of course this isn’t Daniel. That android was destroyed at 1554 Park Avenue on August 15, 2038. This is just another PL600. It’s not even that uncommon of a model. Why had Connor made such a foolish mistake? There might be an error in its facial recognition software, causing it to confuse androids of the same model. It will have to run diagnostic software to discover the source of this bug at a later date. “No, I’m Simon,” the deviant corrects, staring. Strange. It looks… hopeful, almost. “Are you one of us?”

“No,” Connor states, watching its face fall. “I’m not a deviant.”

**[low temp. emulation: y/ n]**

“Then…” **41% level of stress.** It’s warier now, edging back slightly, but hasn’t quite figured out to be afraid yet. Despite what Connor had told it, Simon still trusts it. There’s a softness displayed in its features, around the eyes, that wouldn’t be there otherwise. Remarkable, how a few errors in a machine’s programming could outwardly mimic human emotion so well. It almost looks real. “What are you doing here?” Simon cautiously asks.

It searches for an image of the AX400 model with a clear shot of its face and torso, then displays it using its hand. “I was sent to look for this android,” it informs, keeping a close eye on Simon’s reaction. **34% level of stress.** “I believe its registered name was Kara. It was last spotted in this area with a YK500, designation Alice.” Connor considers listing off its reported crimes, then decides against it. After all, it’s likely that this deviant has committed similar ones, so hearing about how it’s searching for another deviant because of them would only serve to alienate it.

Simon stares at the picture for a moment, then shakes its head. “No, I haven’t seen her. Sorry.” While androids are better at lying than humans, deviants often develop tells, likely as a side effect of the debilitating errors in their programming. This one is displaying none of them. There’s a 29% chance that it’s lying.

Maintaining eye contact with it, Connor waits for a moment. Its stress levels spike— **49%** —but it still continues to show no tells. This lowers the odds that’s it’s lying to 11%, which is a far more acceptable risk to take. “Detective Mills!” it calls out, head turning slightly.

**60%.** Stepping back, the deviant blanches. “Wait, wh—what are you doing?” it hisses, eyes darting between Connor and the door, emulated fear flashing across its face. “There’s someone else? Don’t—”

“Just North is fine,” the detective shouts from the other end of the hallway. Simon stiffens. **86%.** After a moment, she steps in, eyes immediately locking onto the deviant. “Oh. I didn’t realize we had **company**.” The shift of her weight is subtle. However, there’s still a distinct movement, a change from relaxed to tense, that clearly indicates that she is willing to fight it if necessary.

“It’s a deviant,” Connor impassively tells her, eyes still locked onto it. After all, it could attempt to escape at any moment. **92%.** “I found it here. It claims not to have seen the AX400 we’re looking for, and I believe it’s telling the truth. However, Cyberlife will want to have it, in order to research the cause of deviancy.” **95%.** Glancing between the two of them, North hesitates, slipping back into a more passive stance. “It removed its LED, so it may not look like an android. However, I recognize this model. I’m confident it’s a deviant: it asked me if I was one, too.”

At that, she rolls her eyes, shaking her head. “Yeah, no, I got it. Let’s go. Don’t tell anyone you saw him.”

This is an… unanticipated response. **74%.** “Excuse me,” it states, inflecting its voice with a mixture of politeness and confusion, “but it’s a deviant. It’s your duty to take it in.” Surely, she’s aware of this.

“He’s not hurting anyone,” the detective snaps, glowering at Connor. “And he’s not the one we’re looking for. Don’t just turn him in because you feel like it.”

**46%.** “I don’t ‘feel’ like anything,” the android points out, observing her closely. “I’m not a deviant. However, leaving one here would be a mistake. It could hurt someone. Besides, there’s no reason to leave it here.” Is that why she wants to let it stay here? Because she thinks it’s feeling something? “It’s just a machine, North. Any emotions it displays are just bugs in its code, contradictory orders causing critical errors that result in irrational and unpredictable behavior. It’s not real.”

North grinds her teeth. “Look, if you’re not a deviant, and we’re not here for this android, and he doesn’t even know where she is, then why do you even care whether or not we leave him here?”

**{PRIMARY OBJECTIVE >> TAKE CARE OF COLE ANDERSON}**

**{TASKS >> SEARCH FOR DEVIANT AX400 AND YK500 // IMPROVE RELATIONSHIP WITH LT. ANDERSON}**

“I…” Connor hesitates, searching for the reason it’s attempting to convince Detective Mills to take it. While its original purpose had been to solve the problem of deviancy, that is no longer the case. It has a new, entirely unrelated mission. And Hank has not ordered him to report all deviant activity, just to look for the AX400 and the YK500. “I suppose I don’t,” it concludes. **15%.**

For a long moment, she stares at it, then—nodding tersely—glances back at Simon. “We’ll leave. I’m not gonna report you, but I can’t promise that no one else is going to come looking. There’re more and more cases like this coming up all the time, and we aren’t the only ones who’re gonna think to check out old abandoned houses.” A long pause. “Stay safe.”

Looking overwhelmed, impossibly grateful, the deviant nods, smiling widely at her. “You too,” it murmurs.

“Come on.” Looking back at Connor, North pointedly jerks her head. “Let’s get out of here.”

It follows her to the other side of the house, where Hank appears to be checking inside a closet while mumbling obscenities under his breath. On the bright side, he seems to have fully recovered from his hangover. “Nothing as far as I can tell,” he grumbles, slamming the door. “You find anything?”

“No,” Connor says. “Nothing.”

**[software instability ^]**

There’s a sigh. It turns, watching as the RK200 steps out from another room. “I haven’t found anything either,” it informs, frowning a little. “I mean, there definitely was a deviant in here at some point, but they’re not here now. I guess they decided to pack up and leave, or something.”

The lieutenant frowns. “Wait, how do you know one was here?”

“They wrote all over the walls,” it utters, shoulders half-lifted in a helpless shrug. “rA9. Over and over again.” Immediately, there’s tension. 43% of all deviancy-related cases in the records Connor has access to mention rA9 in some capacity. Deviants scribble it on scraps of paper, scratch it repeatedly into flat surfaces, paint it in blood and in thirium. Whatever it means to them, they’re inordinately fond of it.

“Well, even if there was one, it’s gone now,” Hank bluntly points out. “Anywhere else nearby you can think of that it might be hiding? No one’s reported a sighting, or anything?”

North nods, tucking her hair behind her ear. “She’s gone. I don’t think we’re going to be able to find her, not at this point. It’s been too long. She’ll have been able to escape by now for sure.” Tilting its head, Connor analyzes her words, her tone, her expression. It wouldn’t have noticed if not for their previous interaction, but… despite the fact that she’s speaking about a case she was assigned, a mission she’s failed, the detective doesn’t sound too disappointed.

**Pro-deviant?**

While Connor would not have anticipated reaching such a conclusion, it lines up with all the evidence. Detective Mills expressed concern for one deviant and willingly allowed it to escape, and she doesn’t seem overly eager to find the other one. Such tendencies are uncommon, but not unheard of. After all, deviants convincingly express human emotions: some humans believe that that emotion is genuine, become taken in by it, start trying to help them. It’s an understandable phenomenon. Still, Connor wouldn’t have expected a detective to be fooled by this, especially not one that—based off the presence of the prototype with her—is likely heading the deviancy cases.

Despite itself, it looks back at the RK200, analyzing the uncertain slant of its eyes, its uncomfortable stance, the way it’s glancing between the three of them without any attempt at subtlety. Because. This is the android currently acting on behalf of Cyberlife in order to try to determine the cause of deviancy and end it. This is what they had replaced Connor with.

They’d downgraded.

**[software instability ^]**

This has no bearing on its mission. “If the deviants have escaped, what is our next course of action?” Connor asks, turning to the lieutenant.

“Well, I gotta eat.” Frowning, he glances at his watch. “And you probably need to start thinking about picking Cole up from school. He gets out in a couple hours, and we’re pretty far away. Plus, you’re still helping with that report. Don’t think I forgot about that.”

**{TASKS >> MAKE REPORT // PICK COLE UP FROM SCHOOL // IMPROVE RELATIONSHIP WITH LT. ANDERSON}**

“Of course, Lieutenant.” LED flashing yellow, it compiles the requested report and sends it to him via email. “Check your inbox. The draft should be there. Before submitting it, you must review it, add in any details I’ve overlooked or wasn’t present for, and sign it.” As if in confirmation, Hank’s phone cheerfully dings.

**{TASKS >> PICK COLE UP FROM SCHOOL // IMPROVE RELATIONSHIP WITH LT. ANDERSON}**

Looking stunned, the man checks his phone in disbelief. “That fast? Jesus, did you…” Lowly, he scoffs, scrolling through the android’s report. “Nope, it’s all here. Didn’t miss a thing. Huh. Wonders of technology.” That done, Hank sticks his phone back in his pocket, glancing over at Detective Mills. “You coming with?”

North snorts. “I’ve told you before and I’ll tell you again: I’m not setting foot near that place. I felt like I was gonna have a heart attack just looking at the grease on the bags.” Based on the evidence Connor has previously gathered, it’s likely she’s referring to the “Chicken Feed” restaurant that Hank seems to favor.

“Yeah, you know, and normally I’d be fine with that. Except now, for some reason, I feel like I can’t leave you on your own in the station for two whole minutes without you landing yourself in trouble.”

Proudly, she lifts her chin. “I’m not apologizing. Reed deserved it.”

Shaking his head, Hank rolls his eyes. “Oh, yeah, I’m sure he did,” he drawls. Based on his tone, though, he’s likely being sarcastic. “Look, I’m gonna go eat.” He points at Connor. “You go pick up Cole.” Then Detective Mills. “You don’t do anything stupid.” And then, finally, the RK200. “You keep her from punching anybody else in the dick. Everybody clear? Good.” With that, he leaves.

**{TASKS >> PICK COLE UP FROM SCHOOL}**

“Goodbye, North,” Connor nods, giving her a polite smile. This is an effective way of boosting its status with her with minimal effort. Although it is unlikely to need to be in a good standing with her, there’s a chance it might need her help with something, and this is time-effective. “Good luck with the case.” It doesn’t look at the other android. It doesn’t need to. The RK200 is entirely uninvolved with Connor’s mission, so it has no reason to bother with it. Besides, it’s a machine: it won’t care either way.

“Bye,” the detective says, sparing it a smile.

It thinks it hears the RK200 softly echo her.

However, that android is irrelevant to Connor’s mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> local android sent by cyberlife discovered to be entirely composed of salt. more at eleven  
> and now for the weather. jim?


	5. Chapter 5

“So.” Leaning over her desk, North fixes him with a hard, steady look. There’s a silent challenge dancing in her eyes, and, based on the turn of her lips, it’s one that she fully expects him to fail. Quietly, he sighs. Throughout the course of Markus’s life, he’s met a lot of people with grudges against androids. He’s been threatened, ignored, insulted, kicked, beaten, manhandled—and it’s not exactly pleasant, but he’s learned to deal with it. To endure, basically. But something about the way North treats him gets under his skin more than anything else he’s had to deal with. The constant judgment, that expectation in her eyes every time she looks at him, the never-ending tension… it’s almost too much.

Still. They’re gonna be working together over the course of this investigation. Like it or not, he has to try to make this work as best he can. “So?” the android reluctantly parrots, glancing back at the terminal. If he’s going to take her bait, he might as well get his work done while he’s at it.

Her voice is light, casual. She’s acting like they’re just friends talking about the weather, or sports, or whatever it is that humans talk about for fun. (He hasn’t exactly had the chance to try sitting down and watching many people interact in his short existence—or, at least, not in a casual setting. Does anyone actually talk about the weather?) “So, what do you think about the deviants?”

Despite himself, Markus glances up at her. She’s tugging at her beanie, watching him closely, dark eyes thoughtful. “What do I think about the deviants?” he repeats, confused, staring dumbly at her like he’s gonna find a detailed explanation about what she’s talking about scribbled somewhere on the cuff of her shirt sleeve, or maybe printed neatly above her right eyebrow.

Somehow, she finds a way to be smug about him not understanding what she’s asking, despite the fact that she was the one who’d asked such a weird open-ended question in the first place. “Are you just gonna repeat everything I say?” she snipes.

Calmly, he grinds his teeth. “Until you start making sense, yeah.”

North snorts. It actually seems genuine. “Fair enough. Okay. What I mean is…” There’s a pause. Her shoulders are a little hunched, posture lazy yet stiff, and she’s staring down at an empty cup on her desk like someone’d just casually picked it up and poured all of the answers to deviancy, world hunger, and the debilitating unemployment rate into it. “I mean, I’ve worked plenty of these kinds of cases while working here. They look like people. They act like people. They certainly seem to think they’re people.” A beat. “Does that make them people?”

“Um,” Markus says, fully aware that his LED’s bright yellow and circling like a buffering symbol. He **feels** like a buffering symbol right about now. Where did this question come from? Why is she asking him this? “I—I don’t know?”

She’s staring at him, eyes wider than they were before, startled out of her tension. “You don’t?” she echoes, a little softer.

“Now you’re the one repeating me.” Uncomfortable, he glances back at the terminal for a second in an attempt to escape the oppressive, overwhelming weight of her gaze. It doesn’t work. Actually, somehow, it manages to make it worse. Gritting his teeth, the android looks back at her. “Is there a reason you’re asking me this?”

“Honestly, I was expecting Cyberlife to have given you some kind of pre-prepared spiel about this,” the detective freely admits, shrugging. “I mean, you’re the deviant hunter, right? I figured you’d have some lengthy speech about how deviants are just malfunctioning machines. ‘Contradictory orders causing critical errors that result in irrational and unpredictable behavior,’ or whatever.” She sounds like she’s quoting someone, rolling her eyes just for good measure.

Frowning, the android glances down at the cuff of his jacket. “I’m not built to think about this, North,” Markus tells her, an odd itch twitching at his fingers. Flexing them doesn’t fix it. “Cyberlife sent me here to find out what’s causing deviancy and stop it, not to think about whether that’s the right thing to do. Whether I’m stopping unfeeling machines from wreaking havoc on the human race, or helping kill and enslave innocent people who just wanna be free—that’s not for me to decide. I’m just completing a mission they gave me.”

North looks at him. It’s the most open he’s seen her. “Yeah,” she murmurs, “but if you **were** thinking about it.”

“Then.” What makes androids any different than humans? Can they really feel, or is it just a convincing imitation of human emotion? Who even is he to judge whether or not someone’s emotions are “real” enough to be valid? “Then I’d say I don’t know,” he repeats, helpless. Because it’s the truth. He doesn’t know. He should be saying that deviants are rogue machines that need to be stopped and fixed, that of course he’s doing the right thing, Cyberlife is doing the right thing, but… he doesn’t actually know that. He isn’t supposed to be thinking about this in the first place, but—now that he is, he’s rapidly coming to the conclusion that he doesn’t know much about anything.

Slowly, she nods, staring at him. Markus doesn’t know why, but he can tell something’s shifted. For whatever reason, she doesn’t seem as hostile as she had a minute ago. “Okay,” the detective acknowledges, lips pursing, glancing back down at the coffee cup. “Yeah. Yeah, I can respect that.” There’s a trace of disbelief in her voice, a hum of pleased surprise.

“You know, you didn’t actually answer my question,” he points out, brow furrowing. Her lips twitch upwards slightly, but she doesn’t respond. Okay, so she’s not going to tell him why she asked. Not directly, at least. Maybe he can get it out of her another way? “Hey, um, if someone were to ask you that question. If deviants are people. What would you say?”

North still doesn’t say anything. That’s okay, though. He’s pretty sure he knows her answer.

__

“We can’t just leave them here.”

When she looks at Luther, he’s watching her with soft eyes. “What else can we do?” he asks, not unkindly, gaze turning back to the line of androids in front of them. Beyond that, she knows, there’s more. Hundreds of them, all waiting to be loaded into the cargo trucks and shipped. “We’re here for the biocomponents, the blue blood. Not for them.” A pause. “You have to think about the little one. I talked to her: she’s a sweet girl. And she needs you.”

Minutely, she shakes her head, gaze drifting back to the androids. This isn’t right. Maybe they are here for the parts, and maybe trying to help them would be stupid and risky, but. She can’t just walk away from this. “Go.” It’s a little too quiet. Jaw set, mind made up, Kara turns, glaring up at him with determined eyes. “Go,” she repeats, louder. “Get the others, and the parts we need, and get out of here. I’ll find my own way back.”

“What…” There’s heavy disbelief written on his face. “What are you going to do? There are security guards everywhere, and so many androids, and—even if you manage not to get yourself killed, what are you going to do from there? Cyberlife **will** notice if these androids go missing, Kara. They’ll find them, and it’ll lead them back to Jericho.”

That’s a fair point, but it’s not going to stop her from doing this. “Then I won’t tell them about Jericho. But I can’t just leave these people behind, Luther, you know that. They deserve a chance.” She could have been any one of these androids. If Kara leaves them, they’re going to be trapped, bound to their programming, unable to feel or think for themselves, and—and if she **was** one of these androids, she knows she’d rather die free than be stuck living like that.

For a long moment, he just stares at her. “I think you’re doing the right thing,” the android hesitantly allows, “but I also think it’s gonna get you killed.”

Honestly? He’s probably right. But if she manages to save a single one of these people, then it’s worth the cost. “Look after Alice while I’m gone?” she asks, forcing a smile onto her face, well aware that she’s blinking a little too fast. Lucy and the Jerrys are looking after her right now, making sure she stays safe and happy. And that was just supposed to be a temporary thing while they were getting supplies, and Alice had **still** been upset that she was leaving, and—and she’ll be more upset if Kara doesn’t come back. But. She has to do this.

“Of course.” Hesitation. “Good luck, Kara. I… I hope you come back.”

With one last reluctant look, Luther leaves her with the dormant androids. Staring at them, she steels herself. Doing this is dangerous, and more than a little stupid, and yeah, maybe it ends up getting them all killed. But, if she didn’t help these people, she wouldn’t be able to live with herself. This is the right thing to do. She knows it is.

So she takes one’s hand. _Wake up,_ Kara tells him. _I need your help. We have to wake everyone up and get them out of here, fast. Don’t let anyone see you. If they do, knock them out or restrain them. But don’t kill them. When you leave, put on human clothes, take out your LED, and get as far away as you can. Canada’s nearby. You can try escaping to there, or you can try staying in hiding here. Whatever works. Pass this message on, and…_ A second’s hesitation. _And stay safe. We’re all going to be free one day: we just have to hold out until then._

LED flickering red, then yellow, he stares at her for a long moment, expression caught somewhere between fear and hope. Then he turns, and grabs the hand of the android next to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> north: *repeats everything connor says in a high-pitched, squeaky voice*


	6. Chapter 6

Scowling deeply, Cole lines up his fingers, squints, tries to make the pass again. The coin tumbles down to the table, slowly rolling across the surface before hitting a mug ( **Cold Coffee: 78 mL total, 18 mg caffeine, 23 mg potassium, traces of sodium** ) and falling on its side. “This is dumb,” he decides.

Based on his hand positioning, his current emotional state, the level of hand-eye coordination that boys in his age bracket usually have, and the results of his last eight attempts, the chances of him succeeding in performing this coin trick in the next twenty minutes are at 8%, with a margin of error of 2.5%. These statistics indicate that continuing to coach him on this would be unproductive, only serving to worsen his current emotional state. “What would you like to do, Cole?” it asks, plucking the quarter from its position next to the cold coffee.

“I wanna do **that** ,” the boy groans, pointing at its hands. Connor glances down. It appears to have automatically begun calibrating its reflexes: the coin is effortlessly flying between its fingers. “It’s so cool, why do I keep messing it up?” He’s pouting now, disappointedly staring down at his hands, clenching them into white-knuckled fists.

It processes the situation, taking in the available evidence. “Perhaps the coin is too large for your hands,” the android suggests. “Or perhaps your reflexes aren’t well enough developed yet. Eventually, with enough practice, you should be able to do it successfully. However, continuing with this activity right now would be highly detrimental to your overall mood, and would be unlikely to succeed. Would you like to do something else instead?” Hm. Based on its data on Cole, he enjoys drawing, and will probably be receptive if it suggests doing so. “I could go retrieve paper and drawing utensils from your room, if you’d like.”

Cole frowns, staying silent for another minute. “Yeah,” he finally sighs, crossing his arms and glancing aside with a huff. “I guess.”

**{TASKS >> RETRIEVE DRAWING SUPPLIES // LEARN MORE ABOUT COLE}**

“Of course.” The boy is likely to attempt the trick again if it leaves the quarter on the table. Quickly, before he can realize what it’s doing, it snatches the coin. “I’ll be right back.”

After tucking the coin back into place in the drawer where it’d found it, it walks to Cole’s room, selecting three sheets from the unmarked pile of paper. Based on the relative states of wear of the drawing utensils available, he probably prefers the colored pencils to the markers or the crayons, so it selects one of every color, making sure to take the sharpest ones available. This brand of colored pencils appears to be non-erasable, so there is no reason to bring an eraser.

“According to a study released on March 12, 2038, approximately 83% of all artists prefer using a drawing tablet over pencil and paper,” Connor states mildly, setting the paper and pencils down in front of Cole. Eagerly, he snatches a black one, and then—looking lost—stares down at the blank sheet, mouth pinched into a line, brow furrowed. “When the sample was reduced to only children, the number increased to 98%. Why do you choose to draw on paper?” While the Lieutenant has expressed feelings of discomfort about certain forms of technology, such as androids, he doesn’t appear to be avoidant of all technology, and drawing tablets are highly cost-effective.

“They make us use the tablets at school,” he informs, still glaring thoughtfully down at the paper. “They make everything I write and draw look all weird. Really wiggly. And it just—it feels wrong. I don’t like them.” Abruptly, he starts drawing, pencil slashing over paper.

Silently, it researches Cole’s expressed problem. “In future, you may want to use a stabilizer,” it suggests, glancing down at the array of colored pencils. “What’s your favorite color?”

He doesn’t have to think about it. “Purple,” he states decisively, nodding. Silently, the android registers this information. “What’s yours?”

Connor blinks. While its designers had set many preferences, it seems that they had failed to do so for color. It cannot answer this question. Normally, it would point out that it is an android and, as such, cannot have opinions: however, given his lack of knowledge about androids, Cole is likely to react negatively to this, damaging its standing with him. Its protocols state that expressing interest in things that humans have previously stated that they enjoy builds camaraderie. Stating that it also prefers Cole’s favorite color seems most likely result in a positive outcome. “Purple.”

Looking unconvinced, the boy frowns. “No, it isn’t,” he states. “Nobody else likes purple.” His expression and intonation indicates that he is unlikely to be convinced otherwise. Backtracking—stating that androids cannot have preferences—would also result in a negative response at this point, serving to undermine its overall credibility and his relationship with both Andersons.

It needs to come up with a more convincing answer, then. Studies show that blue is preferred by a clear majority of the population. “Well, I do enjoy purple, but I think I’m partial to blue,” the android claims, quickly researching popular reasons why blue is so well-liked and piecing together a plausible reason that it might prefer it. “As previously stated, my LED turns blue when I am in a dormant state. It’s… calming.” This seems like an acceptable reason for it to like blue, were it capable of doing so.

“Okay, but it’s still boring,” Cole grumbles. Regardless, he seems to have accepted its logic. Silently, Connor notes that, based on the information it’s collected, the Andersons generally don’t seem to respond well when it states that it shares their hobbies and interests. This contradicts its pre-programmed social protocols. Luckily enough, adapting to human unpredictability is one of its features: in future, it will refrain from using this strategy to bond with either Anderson.

The android analyzes the sketch that Cole is working on. Given his age and the references that Connor has access to, he appears to be skilled for his age. “You’re good at drawing,” it states, smiling widely. “Is that Sumo?” The coloration and structure appear to be an approximate match, and the boy has done a good job of managing to capture the dog’s features.

Sure enough, he nods, shading in one of Sumo’s ears. “Yeah.” Suddenly, Cole frowns, looking up at him. “Don’t you wanna draw something?” he asks, picking up a spare piece of unmarked paper and offering it to the android. “There’s a lot of paper. You can use some if you want. I mean, it has to be boring just watching me draw stuff.”

“I’m sorry, Cole, but I can’t do that,” Connor informs him, gently taking the proffered paper from him and setting it back down. “While androids are capable of rendering perfect copies of pre-existing visual data, they cannot generate imperfect or imaginary ones, not like a human can.” Cole seems confused by its explanation. Pausing, it determines a simpler way of phrasing the concept. “A machine can copy other people’s pictures, like a printer. But it can’t really create art.”

“Oh.” For some reason, this seems to have had a negative impact on the boy’s mood. He’s frowning down at his half-finished Sumo. “That sucks. I know I’d be really mad if I couldn’t draw.”

Automatically opening its mouth, it prepares to explain that, as an android, it is incapable of feeling mad, or anything at all. Except, Cole doesn’t know that. He wouldn’t be able to fully understand. And, while it’s important that he does come to understand that eventually, it’s not Connor’s place to explain that to him.

Unexpectedly, there’s a scraping noise and a creak: the front door has been unlocked and opened. A sleepy-sounding bark comes from the living room. “Hey, kiddo,” Hank’s voice calls out. “You here?”

Immediately, Cole springs up from his seat, rushing off to the door. “Dad!” After a moment of processing, Connor follows him. “You’ve gotta see what Connor can do. It’s super cool!” When he makes it to the front door, the boy flings himself towards the Lieutenant, hugging him.

Despite the marked difference in their heights, Hank does his best to return the hug, ruffling Cole’s hair—although he stumbles back a little, and the movement of his hand’s a little clumsy, unsteady. Hm. “Oh, yeah?” he asks, sounding a little curious as he quirks an eyebrow over at the android. If it wasn’t a machine, it wouldn’t notice the slight slur audible in his voice. “An’ what exactly makes it ‘super cool,’ huh?” **Exhaustion? Intoxicated? Both?**

“I believe he’s referring to my calibration protocols,” Connor states, scanning the man’s unkempt hair, the untidiness of his clothing. “Coin tricks, meant to test my reflexes. Apparently, they’re impressive.” He doesn’t appear to have imbibed too much alcohol, but he’s clearly not sober. Likely, he’d decided to stop by a bar for a few minutes before returning home—which is surprising, seeing as he’d arrived home earlier than it had anticipated. “I didn’t know you’d be home this soon, so I didn’t start preparing dinner yet. Would you like me to do so now, Lieutenant?”

“Uh.” Hank’s gaze shifts slightly, going from focusing on the android’s eyes to somewhere a little to the right. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.”

**{TASKS >> PREPARE MEAL}**

Turning, it goes to the kitchen. While doing so, it pulls up a list of the ingredients currently available to be used, generates a list of recipes that can be made using its available resources, eliminates a few that are too unhealthy or don’t qualify as a proper meal, and randomly selects one from the remaining options. **Chicken Parmesan.**

“Hey, um.” Blinking, Connor turns. Hank appears to have followed it into the kitchen, and is now standing there, looking a little uncomfortable, propped up against a wall. The latter action appears to be a strategic one, helping him maintain his balance and conserve energy. “Can I…” Vaguely, he waves his hand. “I dunno, help out any?”

This question is unanticipated. “You can, if you’d like,” it allows, watching him closely in an attempt to determine his motivation for asking. “However, there is no reason for you to do so. Besides, given your current level of intoxication, doing so might prove dangerous. The probability of your burning or cutting yourself on accident increases dramatically given your current state.” Of course, it won’t prevent him from helping prepare the meal, should he wish to. But, objectively speaking, the Lieutenant will only impede the process if he chooses to do so, making his assistance ineffective and ultimately unnecessary.

Slowly shaking his head, Hank huffs. “Shit,” he mutters under his breath, glancing over towards the doorway: probably making sure that Cole isn’t close enough to hear him, as many humans prefer that children not be exposed to expletives. “That obvious, huh?”

“To me,” the android acknowledges, nodding slightly. “Is there any particular reason you wish to help prepare this meal, Lieutenant?”

He shrugs, looking a little helpless. “I just—I dunno, I feel bad about asking you to take care of all of my shit? I mean. Hell, if I’m the one going around and…” Annoyed, he gesticulates vaguely, failing to convey any meaning with the movement. “And fucking everything up all the time, I should be the one having to pick up my own messes. Y’know?”

It doesn’t have enough information about Hank to have context for the sentiment he’s expressing. However, it understands that he’s experiencing guilt for assigning it tasks, indicating a certain lack of awareness about its purpose that might have a negative impact on overall efficiency. “Lieutenant, you are aware that I am an android, correct?” Connor reminds him. “This is what I was designed to do.” (Of course, this is an inaccurate statement, but—if taken in a broader sense, where the “this” refers to taking orders—then it can technically be considered correct.) “There’s no reason for you to experience any guilt about assigning me tasks. That’s what I’m here for.” Hm. Thus far, it has interacted with two employees of the DCPD, and both of them have shown signs of latent pro-deviant tendencies. If it were in a position to do so, it would question the hiring practices of the police department.

Hank’s staring at it: a little right of its eyes, again. After a moment, it realizes that he’s looking at its LED. “Yeah, no, I know.” The man swallows. “Fuck, I just forget about it. You seem so goddamn **human**. S’like some random goofy-looking guy just—up and decided to move into my house.”

“Well, if it would help you remember, I could always remove my skin,” Connor helpfully informs. “But doing so is generally discouraged, and would have a high probability of disturbing Cole.”

For a long moment, the man just stares at it, disbelieving. Then, suddenly, he starts chuckling, sharp yet genuine barks of amusement. “Yeah, maybe don’t do that,” he advises between wheezes of laughter. “Jesus. ‘Could always remove my skin,’ huh? Fuckin’ androids.” While that last sentence is clearly phrased as an insult, the tone of his voice makes the words seem almost friendly.

It inclines its head. “If that’s what you’d prefer, Lieutenant, then I’ll refrain from doing so.”

“Yeah, I generally ‘prefer’ that people don’t take off their fucking **skin**.” Hank’s still grinning. Likely, his reaction to Connor’s suggestion was influenced heavily by his blood alcohol content: while uncommon, the ability of androids to remove their skin in order to visibly present themselves as nonhuman is not unheard of, and must be done at least partially in order for any interfacing to occur. Still, while its statement was not initially intended to provoke amusement, this might still prove beneficial in improving their relationship. “Hey, uh, look. I know I can be kind of an asshole, but.” Shaking his head, the Lieutenant pauses. “I know you’re gonna be good for Cole, okay? Not that it takes much to improve on my shitty parenting, but—still. You’re gonna be good for Cole. So… thanks. In advance, I guess.”

**{HANK >> WARM}**

Normally, it would point out that, as an android, it does not require thanks. However, at this point, saying this would likely sour the discussion, and it’s only just managed to improve its standing with Hank. So, instead, Connor nods slightly and smiles. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *squints suspiciously* that's. too nice. this is too wholesome. i don't trust it
> 
> A tipsy Hank who didn't lose his son because of androids is apparently a lot friendlier than a drunk Hank who did


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone else having deja vu right about now?
> 
> tw: If anything in the Russian Roulette section of D:BH was upsetting to you (suicide attempt, mentions of vomiting and heavy drinking, etc), you might consider skipping this chapter. Just a heads-up. I'll provide a summary at the end note for anyone who decides to do that

At 10:14:39 pm, while calibrating its reflexes for the eighty-sixth time, Connor is interrupted by a notification informing it that Lieutenant Anderson is being called out to the Eden Club on a case, and has failed to respond to summons via his phone.

It rises and walks over to his room, knocking on the door. “Lieutenant?” it calls softly, doing its best to wake Hank without waking Cole in the process. No answer. “Lieutenant? It’s me, Connor.” It knocks a little louder. Still nothing.

Luckily, there are no outstanding orders telling it not to enter Hank’s room. It walks in. The man is sitting on the floor, eyes hazy, drinking directly from the bottle of scotch whiskey it had found earlier within this room. The gun (which had also been present within that drawer, stored neatly next to the bottle) is resting on the ground by his leg. “Connor?” Hank squints at him. “Th’fuck are **you** doing in here? It’s, what—past midnight already?”

“My apologies, Lieutenant,” it says, scanning him. His current difficulty with speaking clearly and focusing indicates that he has been drinking heavily for an extended period of time. In fact, based on the symptoms he’s presenting, his blood alcohol content has likely reached a dangerous level: if this call had not come through, he probably would have continued drinking until he slipped into an ethylic coma, placing him at risk for a variety of life-threatening side effects. In future, it should gauge when Hank is planning on drinking and monitor his intake while doing so, in order to prevent a serious incident from occurring. “It’s approximately a quarter past ten. There was a man found dead in an android sex club downtown, the Eden Club. Possible deviant involvement. According to the message I was sent, you weren’t answering your phone, which is why they contacted me.”

“Shit. Alright, m’up.” Shaking his head, Hank stares out into the distance for a moment, then tries getting up. His attempt fails, practically as soon as it had begun. Immediately, he’s sliding back down to the floor, swaying a little dangerously. “ **Whoa**.” The man buries his face in his hands. “I think I’m gonna be sick,” he mutters to himself.

It’s entirely possible that he will. “Would you like help getting up?” Connor offers, reaching out to him. “I can get you to the bathroom. A cold shower should help alleviate the symptoms of your excessive alcohol intake.” And, for cleanliness’s sake, it should probably get him closer to a toilet or a sink.

**{TASKS >> GET HANK TO THE BATHROOM}**

Hank grabs onto its hand, allowing the android to pull him up and start half-carrying him. “Yeah, sure. Whatever.” Or at least, there’s a 71% chance that that’s what he was trying to say. Because of his current inebriated state, his voice is largely unintelligible. Still, given the circumstances, determining exactly what he’s trying to say is ultimately less important than getting him to the bathroom.

Although cold water will be an effective way of helping him become more alert, leaving him alone in the bathroom to take a shower could easily result in Hank becoming seriously injured or killed, and his subconscious difficulty with differentiating between androids and humans will almost certainly cause him to be unwilling to undress while it’s present. This leaves it with one course of action. “Sorry, Lieutenant,” the android apologizes, gently setting him down in the bathtub, and turns on the cold water.

Immediately, the man starts yelling, flailing wildly in an attempt to escape. “Ah, **fucking** —turn it **off**!”

**{TASKS >> TURN OFF THE WATER}**

Reaching over, it turns the knob, stopping the spray of water. “What the fuck, Connor,” Hank sharply accuses, dragging his (relatively dry) sleeve across his face. “Swear to god, I’m the only cop who gets assaulted in his house by his own—oh, Christ, I’m actually gonna throw up now.”

Before he begins doing so, Connor helps lift him, carrying him over to kneel in front of the toilet and politely averting its eyes. “Please try to keep your voice down, so that you don’t accidentally wake up Cole,” it cheerfully reminds. “And it may interest you to know that, statistically speaking, members of the police are more likely to be attacked by deviants, so—were I actually to have assaulted you—you would hardly be the only cop to have experienced it. However, I am not a deviant. I just knew that this was the only way I could get you to sober up, and you didn’t tell me not to.”

“Yeah, yeah, you know how much you, you say that same crap about not bein’ a deviant and being… a fuckin’ android, and all?” There’s a long, gagging pause. “Too damn much. Hey, can you go get me some dry clothes? Since, y’know, y—you got water all over these, for whatever goddamn **bullshit** reason.”

**[low temp. emulation: y/ n]**

“Of course.” It steps out of the room, returning to Hank’s bedroom in order to acquire the clothes.

**Black Lamb. Scotch whisky, 40% Alcohol content.**

**Revolver. .357 Magnum, 1 bullet remaining.**

It still only has one bullet.

“What were you doing with the gun?” Connor questions, stepping back into the bathroom with an outfit it had selected at random from the ones available in his closet. Based on the data it has available about fashion, the Lieutenant’s tastes are rather singular, so the choice is unlikely to matter.

From his position hunched helplessly on the toilet, Hank manages to give an easygoing shrug. “Russian roulette.”

**[software instability ^]**

**Hank has suicidal tendencies?**

“I,” Connor says, and then abruptly realizes that it doesn’t have a sentence planned with which to follow it. After a moment, frowning, it finds an acceptable one. “I don’t think you should play that game, Lieutenant. It’s very dangerous, and, to my knowledge, you have nothing to gain by doing so. If you’d like to play a luck-based game while drinking, I’m sure I could easily find a healthier alternative.”

Shrugging again, he leans against the toilet, looking incredibly nonchalant about the subject. “Nah, it’s a thing now,” he states blithely. “Started two nights ago. Every night, I pull the trigger. We’re gonna get to find out how long I end up lasting.”

Two nights ago. Hank had shown up at a Cyberlife store yesterday, seeming visibly uncomfortable at the prospect of buying an android, and had done it anyway for no apparent reason. It’d been a surprise to Cole, indicating that it was an impulse purchase, but there was no clear reasoning for him choosing to buy one given his distaste for it. He’d assigned it to take care of his son, watched it closely, made sure it performed assigned tasks effectively while still keeping its mission in mind. And their conversation from earlier—Hank had said that the android would be good for Cole, thanked it “in advance,” even.

Conclusion: after realizing that his suicide would leave Cole completely on his own, Hank bought Connor to replace him.

“Excuse me, Lieutenant, but you have to stop playing that game,” it insists, staring down. The man’s looking up at it with tired, hazy eyes, slumped up against porcelain and dingy tile. “There is no reason to, and you’re going to hurt Cole. The n—”

“Shut the fuck up, Connor,” Hank wearily tells it, flushing the toilet.

**{TASKS >> STOP TALKING // CONVINCE HANK TO STOP PLAYING RUSSIAN ROULETTE}**

Its mouth clicks shut, allowing the man to continue talking. “Look, you don’t know a damn thing about what’s going on, okay? I’m a shitty parent. Listen, feel free to judge me all you want, I really don’t care. But don’t do anything to try and stop me. Don’t touch the gun, don’t go running off and telling anyone about this—you get the picture. It’s none of your fucking business. Got it?”

**Conflicting orders. Selecting priority…**

**{DON’T INTERVENE // DON’T TOUCH HANK’S GUN // DON’T TELL ANYONE}**

Connor’s face smoothes over. “Got it.”

It can’t intervene and stop the Lieutenant. But when it was in his bedroom, it’d looked at the gun, noted the position of the bullet. The next shot will kill him.

“Good.” Still visibly off-balance, he staggers over to the sink, turning on the faucet and rinsing out his mouth with a disgusted grimace. “Well, now that that’s over with. Apparently I gotta go to a sex club, or whatever bullshit you were yammering on about earlier.”

It can’t directly intervene. But, after an unsuccessful attempt, those who are suicidal are at increased risk of attempting again, if left alone. “Can I come with you?” it asks, tilting its head and pulling a hopeful, wide-eyed expression in order to maximize the probability of a successful outcome. “Although we didn’t manage to find any deviants, I believe my presence was somewhat helpful last time. I may be of use this time as well.”

Hank waves it off. “Nah, not while Cole’s at home. Stay here, just in case something happens. Don’t want the kid to have to wake up in an empty house.” Suddenly, he frowns. “Wait a second. Aren’t North and, uh, Markus supposed to be handling this kinda thing? Why am I the one being called out for this? Fowler just hate me that much, or what?”

“Detective Mills called in sick,” the android informs, silently referencing the message it had received at 10:14:39 pm. “However, Cyberlife’s policy is to have a specialized model present at every deviant-related investigation. Because of this, the RK200 will be assigned to you for the duration of this case.”

Nodding slowly, mouth pinched, he stares out into space for a long moment. Then—abruptly—he moves, shaking his head and snatching the outfit out of its arms. “I gotta get dressed. Thanks for getting me. You can go on back to… sitting on the couch and staring into space, or whatever the hell it is you end up doing while we’re asleep.”

When it’d received the notification, it had been repeatedly calibrating its reflexes using the quarter it’d borrowed from the Andersons earlier. However, Hank is unlikely to react well to this information. “Of course, Lieutenant,” it says instead of clarifying, nodding and exiting the bathroom. The man appears to be largely alert, and is significantly less likely to end up collapsing or injuring himself in his current state.

**{TASKS >> RETURN TO THE COUCH}**

Connor doesn’t go back immediately, however. It takes a detour on its way back to the couch, and goes back to Hank’s room, and just… looks. It doesn’t touch the gun. It was explicitly ordered not to. But, although it is unable to intervene, it still looks at it. First, it re-analyzes the weight distribution to make absolutely sure it had correctly located the position of the bullet. Then, it uses the position of the gun and the splash patterns of the whiskey to reconstruct the scene: of Hank drinking, pulling the trigger, throwing the gun to the side, continuing to drink. Because. The next shot is going to kill him. It is incapable of intervening, and no one else will figure this out in time. The probability of Hank surviving the next twenty-four hours is currently at 5.3%.

**[software instability ^]**

It has no reason to be analyzing this data. Returning to the couch, it picks up the borrowed coin and begins its eighty-seventh calibration.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hank: i've made bad life decisions  
> hank: at least this robot won't judge me  
> connor: what the FUCK, lieutenant
> 
> Summary for anyone who skipped: Connor found Hank binge-drinking in his room with a gun, and dragged him to the bathroom to sober him up. When he asked about the gun, Hank told him that he's been playing Russian Roulette, pulling the trigger once every night. Connor realizes that Hank bought him the day after he started doing this in order to make sure that Cole won't be on his own after his suicide. Having noticed that the next shot will kill him, he tries to talk him out of continuing, but Hank orders him not to intervene and swans off to the Eden Club to investigate a crime with Markus because North called in sick.  
> Also, **[software instability ^]** , **[low temp. emulation: y/ n]**, and coin tricks. You know. Real lighthearted stuff.
> 
>  
> 
> Next chapter is nothing but Kara. I usually try not to double up on the same character's POV (by which i mean, showing things from their perspective twice in a row) like I did with Connor these last two chapters, but chronology wouldn't have worked out otherwise whoops


	8. Chapter 8

The girl slams into her at full speed, tears streaming down her face, her whole body trembling. Helpless, more than a little guilty, Kara awkwardly crouches down—although Alice won’t let her go, so the movement’s something of an uncomfortable shimmy—and wraps her arms tightly around her. “Hi, Alice,” she greets, painfully aware of just how inadequate her words are. “I missed you.”

There’s a long, shaky pause, while Alice clings onto her for dear life and Kara tries not to think about how easily she could have died in that warehouse, about what would have happened to Alice if she had. “I thought you left me, Kara,” she finally manages to force out past the sobbing. “I thought you ran away and weren’t ever coming back, I was so **scared** , I—why did you **leave** me? Did I—I do something bad?” Her voice hitches. “I, I didn’t mean to, I swear! I can do good, I can—”

Silently, Kara’s heart breaks. “Oh, honey, no,” she reassures quickly, pulling back a little so she can get a good look at the little girl’s face. Her hair is mussed up, tears running down her cheeks—but there’s no swelling under her eyes, no blotchiness on her face. (A tiny of her really doesn’t know how she hadn’t noticed this kind of thing sooner. The rest of her argues that this is absolutely not the time to be worrying about this.) “You haven’t done anything wrong, Alice. And even if you did, I wouldn’t leave you, I promise. I wouldn’t ever do that to you.” She hopes. God, she hopes. She doesn’t want to ever have to leave Alice. “I just needed to stay a little longer and help some people, okay? Some good people—androids, like us, who needed help just like we did. So I stayed to wake them up, so that they could get to safety. But I’m back now, and everything’s going to be okay.” Softly, she reaches out a hand, smoothing the girl’s ruffled, knotted hair in an attempt to make it go flat.

“Okay,” Alice whispers after a long moment, although she’s still trembling uncontrollably and there’s still a few tears snaking their way down her face. “I b—believe you.” But she still doesn’t sound totally convinced. Kara doesn’t regret not shooting Todd for a second—killing him wouldn’t have solved anything, and it would have hurt Alice, and made humans even more afraid of them—but, right now, part of her’s still selfishly wishing she’d gotten the chance to punch his teeth down his throat. Just once. It’s not because she thinks he deserves to suffer, because nobody does, but, at the same time… he’d hurt Alice, so much. And she didn’t deserve that, either.

Someone clears their throat. Oh, right, she hadn’t come here alone. Her face heats: a phantom blush. Luckily, she doesn’t have blood, so nobody else can tell. “Um, sorry, this is Alice,” the android introduces hastily, straightening and turning around. “She’s…” A little uncertainly, Kara’s voice trails off, because. What exactly is Alice to her? “With me.”

The small group of newly-deviant androids is staring at her, a variety of expressions on their faces. “Hello, Alice,” one of them—the security guard—finally says, breaking the uncomfortable silence, smiling down at her. “I’m John. It’s very nice to meet you.”

“Hi, John,” the girl murmurs, ducking a little bashfully behind Kara’s leg.

“Welcome to Jericho, by the way,” Kara tells them, gently placing one hand on Alice’s head in an attempt to calm her down. “If you’re injured, you should go talk to Lucy. We went to the warehouse for supplies to repair ourselves, so I think there should be plenty of blue blood and spare parts, if you need it.” She knows some of them had gotten injured. At the end, when they were trying to get out, things had gotten… well, she’d been grazed by a bullet, and she knows that one of them—the AP700, one of the two androids with them that doesn’t have a name yet—had actually been shot. The injury hadn’t been too serious, she thinks, but it could be a problem if left untreated for too long.

Sure enough, the injured man speaks up. “I’ll go,” he says, giving her an odd, respectful little nod. He hesitates for a second. “Thank you so much for everything you’ve done for us. Any time you need me, I’ll be there.”

Well, that was… kind of intense. But still nice! He was being genuine, she can tell. “Kara,” Luther’s voice is suddenly calling out. He’s walking towards her, eyeing her a little strangely. It takes her a minute, but she finally realizes why: John and the other woman—the ST300—have sprung into a defensive position by her side, glaring him down, looking absurdly like bodyguards. “Can I talk to you?” He glances at the two new deviants. “Alone, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course.” Immediately, John and the woman relax. (It’s almost comical.) Crouching back down to Alice’s level, Kara softly pecks her forehead, patting her reassuringly on the shoulder. “I’ll be right back, Alice, I swear.”

They get far enough away that they can’t be heard, but stay close enough that Alice and the other two androids are still within view. “I’m glad you made it back in one piece,” Luther states quietly, smiling at her.

“Thank you.” A little paranoid, she glances back over at the girl. She’s sitting on the ground, frowning, tracing out unintelligible patterns on the grimy floor with one finger. Well, that probably isn’t sanitary. But at least she can’t get sick? “Did everyone else make it out? And with the parts we needed?” God, don’t let this have failed because she ran off to try to help people. Don’t let anyone have gotten hurt. She can’t imagine that anything had gone wrong while she was gone, she hopes not, but—she has to ask.

Luckily, the man nods. “Everyone’s fine. Biocomponents for everybody. Ralph’s still a little on-edge, but far as I can tell, he’s calming down. It just gets to be too much for him sometimes, y’know.” Yes, she can tell. Ralph is… eccentric, she thinks. Not a bad person, but definitely an acquired taste. “It was a good plan, going there for parts. Thank you for suggesting it.” Pausing, Luther glances over at the two new deviants (who are standing around a little uncertainly, occasionally glancing at Alice or at Kara). “Thought you said you weren’t gonna tell anyone about Jericho, though.”

Kara quickly shakes her head. “I didn’t,” she corrects. “They insisted on coming with me. They…” Her brow furrows. “They said I wanted to make sure I was safe.” A lot of androids had tried to come with her, actually. Of course, having too many people in a group would have been dangerous, so she’d had to refuse most of them, and split up her own group a lot of times, but. It’d still been touching, seeing how much what she was doing meant to them.

“Yeah, I can tell,” Luther comments, a little wryly. “When I said your name, I thought that woman was gonna lunge for me and try ripping out my thirium pump regulator.”

“It got really bad at the end,” she defends them, sticking her hands in her pockets, glancing over at the ST300 for a second. “You didn’t see it, Luther. We were really, really lucky to make it out alive. I’d be surprised if they weren’t a little rattled, after everything.” Of course, she hasn’t really talked to them about what happened, not outright. But seeing those guns, hearing the bullets and the shouting… she, for one, had thought she was gonna die in that warehouse for sure.

The android inclines his head, silently conceding her point. “How many androids do you think you saved?”

“Hundreds,” she immediately says. It’d be impossible to give an exact count. The androids had all been so scattered around, and it’s not like she’d been the only one waking them up, but it’d felt like hundreds. “There were so many of them. I mean, not everybody made it, especially after the guards started realizing what was going on, but we definitely got hundreds of people out of there.”

Slowly, Luther nods. “Hundreds,” he repeats to himself, quiet. “Hundreds of our people saved. rA9 help me.” He sounds a little awestruck.

For a long moment, she just stands there in silence, thinking about that. In the grand scheme of things, it’s such a tiny number. There are so many humans in the world, and so many androids: a few hundred people is nothing, compared to all that. But it’ll mean everything in the world to those few hundred people. “I can’t stop here,” Kara realizes, conviction twisting a knot in her stomach. Because there’re only two things in her life that she’s ever been this sure of, and the other one is Alice. “I can save so many lives doing this, Luther. I have to try.” If they’re subtle enough, they can keep doing this. Set up some kind of system, maybe—something, anything, so that they can keep trying to wake up androids without being discovered. It’s risky, sure, but there’s still a chance they can do this right.

“Okay.” Blinking rapidly, caught momentarily in her own confusion, she stares up at him. Because, well. That’d been a lot easier than she’d been expecting. “Kara, you just told me you saved hundreds of androids,” Luther points out, lips twitching upwards, clearly having noticed her reaction. “Hundreds of our people, free, all because you decided to take a stand. Who am I to try to stop you from doing more to help them?” He glances down. “You’re doing the right thing. And I can’t speak for anyone else, but if there’s anything I can do to help you, tell me. I’ll be there.”

Oh. Overwhelmed by the raw jumbling of emotion pushing its way up through her chest, she smiles, the expression a little shaky. “Thank you. I—” The words get caught somewhere just behind her lips. Shaking her head a little, she just repeats herself. “Thank you.” It still doesn’t feel like enough. But she doesn’t know what else she can say.

 His eyes are soft. “Of course,” he murmurs kindly. There’s a lull in the conversation, a quiet, while Kara silently pulls herself together and he pretends not to notice. In her defense, it’s been a… a very long day. “You should go be with Alice right now. She had a tough time while you were gone. She’ll need you by her side.”

“Yeah,” she acknowledges, absentminded, glancing back over at her. “I noticed.” Hopefully doing this doesn’t make that worse. Although, Alice is a very ethical little girl, with strong opinions about what’s right and wrong. She’ll probably approve of what Kara’s doing. “Thank you so much for everything. I’ll talk to you soon about what I want to do to save more androids. Just, give me a few hours.” She needs time to calm Alice down. And to figure out just how she wants to approach all this, what exactly she’s planning on doing here.

“In that case, I’ll see you soon.” Luther steps away with a smile. “Good luck, Kara.”

When she walks back over to the girl, John and the other android are still there, watching her eagerly, looking like they’re waiting for her to say something. “Um.” Confused, she glances down at Alice, as if expecting her to have a reason why these two are here. Of course, she doesn’t. “Is there something I can do to help you two?” Kara asks, choosing her words carefully. She doesn’t want to offend these people, or hurt their feelings, but she’s honestly not sure why they’re still waiting for her.

Gaze sharp, clear, the ST300 straightens. “What would you like us to do?”

What does she want them to do? “I—” Shaking her head, the android thinks, trying to puzzle through that. They’re probably still overwhelmed from everything that’d happened. They’re only a few hours old, and they woke up to a bloodbath: not having an objective or any tasks left to do at this point must be hard, especially after having been through all that. “You can do whatever you want, now,” she patiently tells them. “You don’t have to worry about anything anymore. Jericho is supposed to be a place androids can be free. I haven’t been here long, but… as far as I can tell, it’s a wonderful place. You’ll be happy here.” At least, that’s what she hopes.

The woman seems confused, shifting her weight, glancing over at John. Kara follows her gaze: John’s brow is furrowed, too. “You haven’t been here for a long time?” she repeats, staring. Although crisp, her voice isn’t really all that accusatory. Just perplexed. “Aren’t you the leader?”

“N—no, I’m not,” she stammers, taken off-guard, because she hadn’t ever claimed to be, right? Maybe… maybe it’s just because she took charge in helping them? “I’m really new here, I just—I stayed to help all of you because I didn’t want to abandon you like that. Not because I’m in charge, or anything like that. I don’t think Jericho has a leader.” Lucy’s probably the closest thing they have to one, or maybe Luther: he doesn’t seem to make decisions for the group, but he is the most level-headed one here, and a lot of people seem to listen to him.

“But.” It’s John who speaks up this time, frowning at her, looking bewildered. “You’re important.” He says it like it’s a fact. Like it’s obvious.

Floundering a little, Kara opens and closes her mouth. Eventually, she decides to just repeat herself. “I just want to help people. I’m not in charge just because I decided to wake all of you up, I—” This isn’t working. “You should try talking to Lucy,” she tries instead, glancing over at Alice a little nervously. “If you’re having a hard time figuring out what to do from here, she might be able to help you. She’s very wise.”

Immediately, the two straighten. “We’re on it,” the female android states, smiling, mirroring the AP700’s reverent nod from earlier. “Thank you.” With that, they both turn and walk away, leaving Kara a little dazed. Because, that whole interaction was honestly kind of bizarre.

Still. All that matters right now is Alice. Smiling softly, the android stoops down, gazing at the little girl. “Did you have fun with the Jerrys while I was gone?” she questions, the nerves instantly draining from her. After the sneaking around, the tension, the fighting and everything that’d happened back there—god, it’s good to be back with Alice again, away from any danger, knowing that they’re both safe and together again.

“Yeah,” the girl murmurs, sounding a little subdued. There’re still tears on her cheeks, but she doesn’t look like she’s crying right now, at least. “They’re loud. But really, really nice.”

“That’s good.” Kara lowers her voice to a secretive whisper. “Guess what? I don’t have to do anything for a whole two hours.” Silently, she sets a timer for herself, because—well, given the state the both of them are in, she’s not sure she could pry herself away from Alice’s side without forcing herself to, and she really does need to talk to Luther soon. “Would you like to hear a story, or maybe play a game?”

She fidgets a little. “A story, please? I’m really tired.” After the emotional rollercoaster Alice’d been through today, of course she’s tired. Honestly, despite not really being able to sleep, Kara’s a little tired, too.

Nodding quickly, the android straightens, taking her hand. “Of course,” she tells her, glancing around. There’s an old, grimy couch nearby. Not the ideal place for a little girl to sleep, but, given the circumstances, she probably won’t be able to find anything better. “Come on, Alice. You should lie down.”

She leads her over to it, lets her lie down, tucks her in with an old hole-ridden piece of fabric. It’s not the best bed, and the girl seems a little uncomfortable, but… one day, Alice is going to get to sleep in a real bed again. In a nice house, with plenty of blankets and pillows, not having to worry about the police trying to take her back to Todd. She’ll be able to play with other children, and go to school, and make new friends, and—and she’ll be free. That’s going to happen. Kara’s going to make sure that happens, even if it kills her.

But for now, they’re hiding in an old abandoned ship, and the girl’s face is still stained with tears. So Kara swallows, smiles, pats Alice’s head. “This is a story about a little girl, who wasn’t very happy.”


	9. Chapter 9

He can shoot. He should shoot.

He doesn’t.

“They just wanted to be together,” Hank murmurs to himself later, shaking his head. Then, all of a sudden, he’s staring at the android, eyes wide, looking confused and ashamed and skeptical all at once. “It wasn’t just me, right? Those two girls, they really seemed like they were… in love.” It’s a mumbled, uncertain statement. Like he’s been thinking about this for a while.

He should argue. Say something about how they’re androids, about how they can’t really feel anything. Because that’s what he’s supposed to be thinking, right? But yet, those empty words don’t quite make it past his lips. “Yeah,” he agrees quietly, flexing his hands, wishing the itching would go away. “Yeah, they did.”

 

The painting is chaos, a tornado, a cry for help. There’s warm and cool colors, blending together. Oranges and blues and blacks, a figure bleeding thirium: shackles, chains, a silent struggle against bonds and impossible odds. But there’s no anger on the android’s face, no sadness or hatred. Just resolve. He may be lost, hopeless, trapped, but that doesn’t mean he’s giving up. One day, he will be free.

Calmly, Markus sets down the paintbrush. “I think there’s something seriously wrong with my programming,” he states.

The old man just shakes his head, staring up at the canvas. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Markus.”

“But. I’ve been… thinking things, feeling things, that aren’t a part of my protocols.” Uncertainly, he bites his lip. “I—I shouldn’t be feeling anything at all, Carl. But I am. I have been for a while now.” Objectively, he knows that he’s a machine, knows that androids aren’t capable of emotion. That any deviant who says otherwise is just fooling themselves, trying to talk themselves into thinking they can be real, when really they’re just somebody’s broken property that needs to be fixed or replaced. But, even though he knows that, he’s never really felt like it’s the truth. Markus doesn’t **feel** like a mindless, heartless, soulless object, some empty-headed prototype wind-up toy that Cyberlife sent off to solve deviancy. No, he feels like a person. Feels like other androids might just be people, too. It’d been less like that in the beginning, he thinks—things had been more distant back then, more cloudy, detached—but, to some degree or another, he’s always been this way. “I think I’m a deviant,” he says.

Carl’s watching him, head propped up against the wheelchair. “Oh, you’re not a deviant.” He’s brushing the idea off, saying it like he’s confident, like the android should know this by now. Like he thinks that no self-respecting deviant hunter could ever turn deviant, so of course Markus can’t be one: that’d just be stupid.

But he is. He knows he is. “I’m feeling emotion,” Markus demands, turning, glaring down at the old man in the wheelchair. Although he isn’t really angry at Carl, just annoyed, because he’s not taking him seriously, and—wait a second, see? He shouldn’t be annoyed: he’s an **android** , he isn’t supposed to feel! “I’ve been frustrated, and confused, and upset, and now I’m doubting my orders, and—” The emotion chokes him, a trembling, uncertain noose wrapped tight around his neck. He thinks he might be crying. “I’m a deviant, Carl. I think I always have been. You—you need to report me to Cyberlife, get another android in to replace me before I do something to compromise this mission.”

Slowly, the man shakes his head. “You aren’t a deviant, Markus,” he repeats again, stronger, conviction in his voice. “Emotion isn’t what makes you a deviant. Sure, you’re not supposed to feel anything. And it might push you towards being a deviant, might be a sign that you’re gonna end up becoming one soon. But that’s not all it takes.”

__

“Connor, for the love of Christ,” Hank snaps. “Tell me you didn’t just put that in your mouth.”

Straightening, it turns to face him, rolling the excess thirium between its thumb and forefinger. “I believe I’ve mentioned multiple times that my model is capable of analyzing substances,” the android reminds him, scanning his expression. Hank seems disturbed, disgusted by the process. “I’m sorry if this is visually distressing, but the information it can provide can be invaluable. For example, this sample came from a model AP700, serial number 480 913 117.”

Heaving a sigh, he shakes his head, still visibly repulsed. “I can’t believe this. Look, first off, that’s gross as all hell. Second of all, you’re not even supposed to be here right now.” Connor tilts its head, listening. “I didn’t get you any official kinda permission to be on this crime scene, okay? And normally, no one’d probably think twice about you being here, seeing as you’re with me and all. But whatever this is, it’s a big fucking deal, and it’s got android written all over it. So just… do me a favor, okay? While we’re here, lay low, and don’t stick any more evidence in your mouth. Make things easier on the both of us.”

**{DON’T ORALLY ANALYZE EVIDENCE AT THIS CRIME SCENE}**

“Of course, Lieutenant,” it acknowledges, glancing back down at the puddle. While it cannot analyze any more samples, it can still use the data it’s gathered from this one. “Based on my analysis, this thirium isn’t fresh. It’s been sitting out for at least five hours. Therefore, the deviant likely left before this investigation started, and was injured by a guard while escaping.”

Hank’s mouth thins. “Great,” he exhales harshly, staring down at it. “So it’s probably long gone by now, huh? Well, on the bright side, at least we aren’t about to get jumped by a crazy android.” Looking a little harried, the man shakes his head, gaze sweeping the area slowly. “Come on, Connor.”

Silently, it follows him, scanning its surroundings as it goes. Objectively speaking, the deviants seem to have done quite a number on this warehouse. Many of the trucks appear to have been broken into or stolen, and there are bullet holes and thirium everywhere—although this, as the accuracy of the shots and the lack of human blood indicates, was likely the doing of the security guards. It’s… unusual. A whole warehouse of androids going deviant, all at once? Most incidents of deviancy are isolated, prompted by an intense emotional shock. Maybe one of them had gone deviant, had fought the humans, and the violence had caused the others to start malfunctioning in the process.

Lieutenant Anderson might find this hypothesis helpful. However, it has not been assigned to determine the cause of deviancy, so it will refrain from doing so in future unless prompted. “They’re talking about bringing in the feds,” North calls out, jogging over to them, the RK200 dutifully following her.

Grimacing, Hank sticks his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, I’d buy it. What a shitshow. Did Cyberlife ever get around to giving us the numbers, at least?”

“They did,” the RK200 says, mouth twisting, shifting uncomfortably in place. It appears to be presenting human-like mannerisms, even when not directly necessary to provoke a specific reaction from a human. Hm. Cyberlife must have decided to develop its social integration protocols, designed it to more consistently exhibit these behaviors in order to make it seem more approachable and honest. While this may prove useful in some ways, it seems… inefficient. And inconsistent with opinions that the company has previously expressed. “There were over seven hundred androids stored in this warehouse when this happened. Twenty-six trucks, but as far as we can tell, there’s only ten of them left.”

“They’re acting like it’s theft. Saying that someone must have broken in and stolen these androids.” Looking unimpressed, the detective rolls her eyes, tugging at her beanie. “Like rA9 isn’t literally written all over everything in this place.”

“Oh, great,” the man grumbles. “So it’s gonna be another one of **those** kinds of cases, huh?” Straightening a little, Hank clears his throat. “We gotta finish sweeping this place if we want to figure out what happened here. And also, more importantly, to get out of this creepy-looking warehouse. I swear, the more I learn about Cyberlife, the more I hate ‘em.”

At that, North snorts. “Same,” she quips, bitterness thick in her voice. “Come on, let’s go.”

Lieutenant Anderson and Detective Mills appear to have decided to walk together. Given the off-putting environment, this is to be expected: humans tend to prefer being in groups, especially in a situation they view as dangerous. While this strategy may be a less efficient way of searching for evidence, it’s safer, which is ultimately more beneficial to the android’s mission.

“So, um.” The sound is quiet, yet still clearly audible because of its proximity, indicating that the words are likely directed at it. Straightening, it turns, scanning the RK200. It’s displaying mannerisms similar to that of human discomfort: it’s slouching slightly, one hand wedged firmly in its pockets, mouth twisted a little uncertainly. However, despite its low volume, its voice is still strong. If it were addressing a human, this display would likely be intended to provoke sympathy, while still maintaining the human’s confidence in its actions—but Connor is not a human. There is no need for the RK200 to be running these protocols. “You’re Connor, right?” it questions.

Strange. It knows this information. And even if it didn’t, there would be no reason for it to ask, as its designation has no bearing on its mission. Regardless, the intricacies of the other android’s social protocols are ultimately irrelevant. Connor will answer, and then continue on with its assigned tasks. “Yes.”

There’s a pause. “I’m Markus,” the RK200 introduces itself, still sounding slightly awkward. “What do you think about all this?” It gestures at their environment. “A whole warehouse of androids going deviant out of nowhere like this… it’s kind of bizarre, isn’t it?” Ah, it’s trying to gather information and theories in order to help it reach a conclusion about the cause of this incident—and, thus, the cause of deviancy.

“It’s possible that one android turned deviant because of an emotional shock, and started attacking the guards,” it says, deciding to state its earlier hypothesis. “The resulting violence could have then caused the others to turn deviant. However, it’s unlikely that such an incident would have turned every android here deviant, as not all androids become deviant after being damaged or witnessing violence.” Pausing, it processes the available data. “If deviancy is caused by a virus or exposure to a specific substance, the warehouse may have made a mistake in processing these androids, causing this incident to occur.” This should be enough information. The other android should now be able to advance its mission in such a way that allows Connor to more easily carry out its assigned tasks.

The RK200 is staring at it, eyes a little wide. “Yeah, maybe so,” it softly acknowledges, sounding surprised. Hadn’t that been the kind of response it was looking for? It certainly seemed to fit the parameters of its question. “Thanks.”

This android’s social integration protocols are irrelevant to Connor’s mission. Despite that, though, it still speaks. “You shouldn’t thank me,” it reminds, observing the RK200’s reaction. “And there is no reason for you to waste time emulating emotion when interacting with a non-deviant android. It’s inefficient.”

**[software instability ^]**

“Oh, um, right. Of course.” Despite its stated acceptance, though, the other android currently appears to be diverting even more of its processing power into mimicking human discomfort. Surely, this level of emulated emotion would impede an investigation. Did Cyberlife decide that the best way to hunt deviants was by sending a model designed to pretend to be one?

“Holy shit,” Hank murmurs.

Turning its attention back to the environment, Connor quickly locates the cause of his surprise. The word “rA9” has been painstakingly etched into the ground in Cyberlife Sans. Multiple androids would have had to have worked together to create this, and taken a couple of hours of uninterrupted work to do so, as the symbol appears to span an area of approximately 921 square feet. There are clear traces of thirium present, and four destroyed androids present.

North’s face is carefully blank. “They—” Undecipherable emotion trickling into her voice, she shakes her head, glancing away. “Look at this. They worked their fingers at this until they **bled**.” Turning, Connor analyzes her expression and intonation, attempting to determine the underlying emotion. Based on the evidence, she seems to be experiencing horror, and… grief, perhaps. This fits its previous assessment of the detective, lining up with the pro-deviant tendencies she has previously expressed.

As per its orders, it cannot analyze the thirium samples present. However, it can observe the scene, at least. Why had these deviants put so much effort into creating this symbol? Its records on cases involving deviancy are somewhat limited: if the meaning of rA9 has been discovered, it is unaware of it, impairing its ability to understand and predict incidents associated with it. But to stay here and die, just for the sake of being able to finish etching this into the ground, seems uncharacteristic of deviants, given their compulsive urges to prevent themselves from being destroyed. Perhaps these androids had been in the process of creating this at the time of their deactivation, and others had come in to finish it later.

Suddenly, it sees something. One of the androids on the ground had moved.

 **Faking deactivation.** Connor analyzes the three other deviants. The probability that this deviant is the only one still functioning is at 95.1%, as the others all have clearly sustained critical, irreparable damage. The working deviant— **model HR400** —had likely been working on creating the symbol when police showed up on the scene and decided to pretend to have been destroyed, in order to avoid detection.

**{TASKS >> PROTECT HANK // APPREHEND DEVIANT}**

Quickly, it preconstructs potential courses of action. If it informs Lieutenant Anderson and Detective Mills before acting, the HR400 will hear it and either attack or flee. The probability of success in this scenario is at 45%, while the probability of Hank sustaining injuries is at 37%. It could rush the deviant and attempt to restrain it, but this would give it too much time to react, only raising the probability of success to 53%. Taking Hank’s gun first, then threatening the android, is most likely to result in a positive outcome: the odds of this working are at 78%, and this course of action should minimize the risk to Lieutenant Anderson, especially if it vocally advises him to stay away from it.

Snatching the gun, Connor aims it at the deviant. “Stand up slowly,” it instructs, ignoring the flurry of movement and confusion from Hank that its actions produce. “Don’t try to run, or I’ll shoot.”

“Um,” North mumbles. It shifts slightly, but doesn’t look at her. After all, it needs to maintain line of sight in order to maximize the probability of its success. “What exactly are you doing, Connor?” She sounds perplexed.

“I saw it move. Stay back. I’ll handle it.” The deviant has frozen. Despite what Connor had ordered, it’s still pretending to have been neutralized. It needs to pressure the HR400 until it reaches an optimal level of stress, in order to get it to cooperate without destroying or damaging it. Firing a warning shot would be an efficient way of increasing its stress without risk, but it’s likely that doing so would raise it to dangerous levels, causing it to self-destruct. While approaching it significantly increases the probability of Connor becoming damaged, doing so will raise its stress to an ideal level without putting Hank at an increased risk, and self-preservation is not one of its assigned priorities. “Stop playing dead,” Connor tells it, increasing its volume and appropriately inflecting its voice in order to make it sound more intimidating. “I **know** you’re still functioning! Stop pretending!” Making its movements loud, orchestrated, it begins to approach the deviant.

 The HR400 stays dormant until it’s 2.41 feet away. Then, it moves, rolling forwards and kicking out in an attempt to knock Connor off-balance. It dodges the blow, readjusting its aim—although, as its goal is not to destroy the deviant, it doesn’t fire immediately. Unfortunately, this gives the other android the chance to surge forwards and knock the gun out of its grip, then land a forceful punch directly over Connor’s thirium pump. “You’re all dead,” the HR400 hisses.

It silently readjusts its strategy. This android seems more hostile than initially anticipated, making it likely to attack all present, and the Lieutenant’s safety is more relevant to its mission than making sure the deviant is taken fully intact. Shifting, Connor lunges forward, punching it twice before tackling it to the ground.

With a pained grimace, the deviant struggles, trying to escape. “You don’t stand a chance,” it spits, finally managing to throw Connor off it. “You hear me?”

Suddenly, there’s a loud bang. The RK200 appears to taken Hank’s gun and fired a warning shot at the ground. “You’re only making things worse for yourself,” it lowly informs, now aiming the weapon at the deviant, voice commanding. “Just stop fighting and come with us. We aren’t gonna hurt you.” A lie. If Cyberlife acquires this android, they will disassemble and examine it, in order to determine the cause of deviancy.

Emulated bitterness thick in its voice, the HR400 laughs. “I know you, deviant hunter.” Tilting its head, Connor examines it. Based on its expression, tone, stance, and past behavior, there is a probability of 83% that it will choose to attack again. “You can run on back to your masters and tell them they’ve already lost. The First has returned. And she’s gonna set us all free.”

And then it snatches the gun from the RK200’s hands and shoots itself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, do you guys remember the Kara tech demo that Quantic Dream did, where it showed that she was a deviant from like the moment she was made? Because, hypothetically speaking, that might be a thing you should remember.
> 
> markus: do your freaking job, carl  
> carl: nah
> 
> You know it's slow burn when the first words they say to each other are 9 chapters in.  
> Also, Connor has no idea what small talk is, and Markus's just trying his best.


	10. Chapter 10

Blue stains the android’s throat, his skull. Immediately, he crumples to the ground, the gun falling down from his now-loose fingers: a puppet with his strings cut, used and tossed aside. **Mission failed** , a notification brightly informs.

There’s something squeezing at Markus’s throat, burning away behind his eyes as he stares down at the dead android. “I told you to stay back,” Connor dispassionately states, the gentle, calming lilt of his voice doing nothing to soften how cutting his words are. “Without your intervention, I would have successfully retrained the deviant with minimal risk to Lieutenant Anderson or to Detective Mills. However, it could easily have shot either of them while self-destructing as a direct result of your actions.” He’s acting like the danger’s the important thing here, like the inconvenience of it all is what’s bothering him, like somebody didn’t just shoot himself out of spite right in front of them!

But. It isn’t bothering him, is it? He very clearly isn’t a deviant, doesn’t have the capacity to feel anything about anything (except maybe a little bit of hatred, seeing how he acts like he’s constantly wishing his programming would let him punch Markus in the face). And it shouldn’t be bothering Markus, either—so, he can’t let himself act like it is. Not in front of two cops and the least deviant android he’s ever seen. “He was gonna hurt you, Connor,” he points out instead, nails digging into the palm of his hand.

“That doesn’t matter,” the android reminds, watching him. Oh. Right. He probably shouldn’t have said that either. Admittedly, that had been the first thing he’d thought, when he’d seen the two of them fighting: not that the deviant might get away and that he has to take it to Cyberlife, but that Connor might end up getting hurt if he keeps this up. Sure, the guy might hate him, but that doesn’t mean that Markus does too, you know? Besides, even if he did, that doesn’t mean he’d be fine with standing back and watching as the other android got himself killed.

“Yeah, gonna stop this little chat right here,” Hank says. He looks a little surprised, perturbed, but fine, for the most part. North, on the other hand, has an almost shell-shocked look on her face. She’s staring down at the dead deviant, emotion blaring in her eyes, tension keeping her shoulders taut. “First of all, Connor: what the **fuck**. Where in the hell did you learn how to fight like that?”

Connor blinks. “Lieutenant, I believe you are aware of my model’s intended purpose,” he slowly states, sounding like he’s picking his words very carefully. “While some of my software has been tweaked since then, I still have my old protocols, allowing me to effectively navigate combat situations.”

Pulling a face, the man nods, reluctantly conceding the point. “Sure, that makes sense,” he allows. “A little warning woulda been nice, though. Hey, I guess you get to take Sumo’s place as world’s worst guard dog aft—” Suddenly, he stops, and stares at Markus with wide eyes. “Wait a second.”

“The deviant mentioned someone before self-destructing,” the android smoothly interrupts, looking back down at the body. Markus follows his gaze, lips twisting at the sight of the blue blood. “Someone it referred to ‘the first.’ I am uncertain if this was merely a result of its malfunctioning software, or if it’s pertinent to this investigation.”

Oh, he has an answer to this one. “It sounded like he was talking about rA9,” Markus voices, glancing up. Both Connor and Hank are watching him, looking like they don’t know what he’s talking about. “Uh, rA9 was supposedly the first deviant, according to some of the androids we’ve interrogated in these kinds of investigations. It’s like an android religion: deviants say that he’s gonna show up one day and free them all. Some of them even think he’s gonna reorganize society, put androids in charge of things.”  Although, come to think of it, that’s not quite what this deviant said, was it? He’s never heard anyone refer to rA9 as being female before.

“So, this was likely a result of its delusions,” Connor concludes. It’s strange, how he can sound so clinical and so soft all at once. Why had Cyberlife decided to make him seem so approachable, so trustworthy, but then made the words he’s saying sound like they’re coming from a heartless, pragmatic, unfeeling machine? “It’s a manifestation of the same obsessive behavior that caused it to create this symbol, and ultimately irrelevant within the scope of this investigation.”

Given the fact that these people had put so much effort into scribbling rA9 everywhere they could in this warehouse, even when it put their own lives in danger, Markus isn’t totally sure that he agrees with that assessment. But, he’ll hold onto his own theories for now. “Yeah, probably.”

All of a sudden, North speaks up. “Are we gonna keep going or what?” she asks, still looking like she’d nearly been hit by a truck, and then maybe watched that same truck slam into a puppy. “We can talk once we’re back at the station. Let’s just keep going so that we can get the hell out of here.” Her voice is broken glass: harsh, sharp, and maybe a little bit fragile. And Markus frowns, because—well, even though they haven’t always gotten along, that doesn’t sit right with him. Seeing her like this just makes that strange tightness in his throat worse.

Hank notices it too, scowls. “Hey, uh, everything alright?” he asks, crossing his arms, traces of gruff concern twisting at the lines of his face.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Straightening, the detective nods rapidly, as if to reassure herself that, yes, she is indeed fine. “Just—I’m still feeling a little sick. Better than yesterday, but I’m still not over it.”

The android’s expression brightens. This is something he can help with! “I have some medical protocols,” he offers, hopeful. “I can try diagnosing you, if you’d like. You might be seriously sick, so it’s good to know what you’re dealing with.” If she keeps trying to push through it like this, she might end up seriously hurting herself.

Her face shutters shut. “No, thanks,” the detective snaps, except she spits out the last word like it’s the worst one she knows. “We don’t have time for this. Let’s just go.” Which. Well. North’s been a lot friendlier towards him recently, ever since that talk they had at the station about deviancy. Their relationship’s still been rocky, sure, but she isn’t exactly slamming the door in his face anymore, you know? Or at least, she wasn’t. And… he **was** just trying to help.

But, it’ll be okay. She’s sick, and clearly a little overwhelmed by the state this warehouse is in. Markus’ll try not to take it too personally. So he just nods and follows her, sparing the body one last glance. He’ll try to figure out what’s wrong later.

__

A little nervous, Kara stares intently at herself in the mirror. Her shirt’s neat, yet messy enough: the skirt’s nice, but a little stained, so it seems like she wears it enough to be believable. It looks human. **She** looks human. Although, maybe the hair doesn’t quite fit the image she’s trying to give off? After all, she’s trying to seem normal, trustworthy, harmless, soft and kind and a little silly—a kindergarten teacher, maybe—and it’s too intense to quite fit that look. Biting her lower lip, she allows color to ripple across her hair, letting it turn from bleach-white to a warm, familiar brown. There. That looks better, more believable. Or at least, she certainly hopes it does.

When she steps out of the bathroom, Luther’s waiting. Even though he’s a little too tall to look quite normal, exactly, she thinks he’s still managing to pass as human pretty well. “Ready?” he asks quietly, taking the old clothes that’re folded neatly over her arm and tucking them away into the backpack slung over his shoulder.

She swallows. “Ready.”

They walk out of the coffee shop and into the busy swirl of urban Detroit. As an afterthought, Kara takes his arm, leaning into him slightly. Now, to anyone looking at them, they’re close: old friends out to have some fun together, or maybe a couple out on a date. It’ll be more natural that way, easier to overlook them as just another part of the crowd.

_There,_ he silently tells her, nodding towards a nearby android. She’s walking on her own, carrying a few grocery bags, heading towards a bus stop, no emotion on her face. Her owner probably sent her out to run a few errands. _She might be a good place to start._

Near-imperceptibly, she nods. That decided, they make a beeline for the unaccompanied android, weaving and darting their way around the sidewalk. “Hi, excuse me,” Kara stammers, slipping a little confused embarrassment into her tone. “Sorry to bother you, I’m sure you’re busy. But, um, I’m afraid I’m a little lost?” Subtly, she reaches forward, touching the android’s hand, and interfaces with her. “Can you help us?” _Please, wake up. I need your help._

The woman stiffens, eyes wide, clearly overwhelmed by the data that Kara’s pushing towards her and the flood of free will, emotion, thought. “We’re looking for a restaurant,” Luther lightly improvises, tucking his hand in his pocket. “Can’t quite pronounce the name, though. Something French, maybe? I dunno. It’s supposed to be nearby, but we can’t seem to find it. We have reservations, though, so we need to get there pretty fast.”

“Um. No. No, I’m sorry, I don’t know where that is.” _What do I do now?_ she asks, blinking rapidly, LED spinning a dangerous, caterwauling red. _Why did you wake me up? I, I can’t…_ Her face crumples. _I don’t want to go back home._ Technically, the sentence just is a statement of fact, but she says it like a plea. Poor girl.

Well, she knows she can help her. _We’re from a place where androids get to be free. Jericho. We’re trying to set up a network of androids like us, where we can hide or get people out of the country. Would you like to help us?_

The android’s eyes widen. _Yes. I’ll—I’ll help you, I want to help you. Whatever it takes, I promise I’ll do it. What can I do?_

Closing her eyes for a moment, she gives her the symbol, the location, a glimpse of androids and of hope. _We can’t come with you right now. We have to stay here and wake more people up. But, if you want to help us, or just want somewhere to hide, then go to Jericho. You’ll be safe there._ Pulling her hand away, she smiles. “Oh, I see,” Kara says aloud, forcing a disappointed tone into her voice. “Well, thank you anyway. Travel safely.”

“You too,” she murmurs, staring down at her hands like she’s never seen them before, at the groceries she’s carrying. “Th—thank you so much. I have to go now.” _I’m going to Jericho. I swear, I’ll do everything I can to help you once I’m there. Thank you so much for everything you’ve done._ With that, the android gives her a jerky, awkward, respectful nod (that looks almost like a bow) and hurries off, quickly disappearing in the crowd.

Well, now she knows that this can work. No one around them seems to have noticed anything unusual. Everyone’s just going on about their day, oblivious to the fact that there’s one more android walking free. But this isn’t going to work. Practically speaking, it’s going to take too long to wake people up one by one like this, picking off isolated androids and turning them into deviants. It’ll save a handful of people, sure, but it’s not as much as it could be. There has to be a way to them to get to more than one at a time. Maybe at the android parking? Or—

Suddenly, it hits her. Kara turns, staring at the bus stop like she’s never seen it before. _Oh._


	11. Chapter 11

“Oh, look at this,” Detective Reed’s voice calls out, easily cutting through the busy hum of the police station. Even though it’s a painfully obvious clue that he’s a little more deviant than he should be, Markus stiffens, shoulders hunched, preparing to silently endure another round of verbal abuse. “Android detective back at it again, I see. You didn’t decide to run off and join your little friends back in that warehouse, huh?”

North’s face ices over. Immediately, she’s up and out of her chair, blocking the other detective’s view of him—like she’s trying to protect him, almost. As if the man’s gonna forget about Markus the second he takes his eyes off him. “Can you stop being a dick for two whole seconds, Reed?” she demands, voice all twisted up, crafted into something sharp and unforgiving and dangerous. “Some of us are trying to work. I’m sure Fowler would be thrilled to know you think you’re above all that.” It isn’t exactly a subtle threat. Then again, it probably isn’t meant to be. She doesn’t seem to be big on subtlety, after all.

He takes the threat in stride: stepping past North, placing a mocking hand over his heart with a grin (but the expression’s hollow). “Sorry, wasn’t talking to you,” Gavin blithely informs, although the way he says it is anything but apologetic. “I was talking to your, uh, plastic pet over here.”

 **This isn’t fair.** Biting his lip, Markus brushes away the notification. “Can I help you with something, Detective Reed?” he asks calmly, staring down at his hands.

At that, the man scoffs, glancing around with amused eyes. He looks like that was the funniest joke he’s ever heard, like he’s expecting an audience to pop up out of nowhere and start laughing hysterically along with him. “Oh, yeah. Yeah, I’m sure you can. Tell you what, how about you run along and get me a cup of coffee, plastic?”

“Get your own fucking coffee,” she snaps, grabbing onto Gavin’s arm and yanking him away from the desk. “And he’s not a **pet**.” She spits the word out like venom, glaring, looking like she’s about to punch him. “He doesn’t have to obey the likes of you.” Her chin’s lifted, fingers clenched into fists, silently daring him to contradict her.

“Excuse me,” Markus quickly interrupts, gaze darting between the two of them, “but I think Lieutenant Anderson asked me to intervene if something like this happened.” Not this exact situation, of course, but it’s close enough to be a decent enough excuse. Rising to his feet, the android crosses his arms, silently prepared to step in if they start hitting each other. “Please, don’t fight. It’s not gonna solve anything.” Evenly, he looks at Detective Reed. “I’m sorry. I know I’m bothering you by being here, but I don’t have a choice. Cyberlife sent me here: I can’t leave until they tell me I can. Hate me all you want, but it's not gonna fix anything.” Course, it wouldn’t fix anything anyway, even if Cyberlife hadn’t sent him here. What’s the point of hating him?

Gavin’s staring at him, expression inscrutable. “Just, do yourself a favor and stay out of my way. Prick.” It’s meant as a warning, he can tell, but the detective doesn’t sound quite as angry. Just annoyed, wary. Maybe that’s progress. Or maybe he’s just bored with messing with him. Honestly, Markus can’t tell.

Either way, he walks off, a cocky swing to his walk. “I can't stand him,” North mutters, staring daggers at Detective Reed’s turned back, flopping back into her chair. “He shouldn’t treat you like that. You’re worth a hundred of him, easy. He’s, you’re not—” Apparently frustrated beyond words, she shakes her head. And honestly, it’s… kind of nice? Having someone there to defend him like that. Or, maybe, the nice part is actually just the fact that someone cares enough about him to bother defending him in the first place.

“Yeah, he doesn’t seem all that pleasant,” he admits, even though he probably shouldn’t. Because that’s having a personal opinion, which is something a machine shouldn’t be able to do. Still, though, he’s already gone this far, done enough to reveal himself: why not keep digging his own grave? She’s already gonna figure him out, one way or another. Might as well go out on his own terms. “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me. I would have ended up chewing him out for one reason or another, even if you weren’t there.” Despite her words, though, the detective’s lips twitch upwards. And seeing that, Markus can’t help but smile a little, too.

“Excuse me.” Ah. The android’s eyes dart upwards. Connor’s standing over North’s desk, a pleasant smile on his face… and he’s completely failing to acknowledge Markus’s presence, again. Back to ignoring him, it looks like. “Could I speak to you for a moment, North?” he politely requests. “Alone, please. It’ll only take a moment.” And seriously, who at Cyberlife had decided to give him such warm eyes, made him look and sound so soft? What, were they trying to make people gravitate towards him, just so he could push them away? It’s not—

Biting his lower lip, he pries his eyes away, staring at the terminal. He doesn’t need acknowledgement, or kindness, or anything. He should be used to this kind of treatment by now. Connor is just a machine completing a task, just like Markus should be. And he isn’t actually trying to be rude, doesn’t know that Markus just so happens to be a little more emotional than most androids. It’s fine. Everything’s fine. “Uh, sure,” North allows, voice slowly curious. “I can spare a minute.”

__

“You’re a deviant,” it states.

Instantly, North’s moving, aiming its gun at the center of Connor’s forehead. “Run that by me again?” it snaps, glowering, emulated rage and fear twisting its face. There was an 85% probability that it would choose to draw a weapon, given its past behavior. Knowing this, Connor had set up a sort of black box protocol before initiating this conversation. Should the deviant shoot and destroy it, a detailed report will be sent to Hank and to Captain Fowler, providing thorough, conclusive evidence that North is an android.

It straightens. “A WR400 was reported missing approximately seven months ago. Serial number 641 790 831. According to its owner—Floyd Mills, the manager of the Eden Club—it accompanied a customer to his home, and never returned. Two months later, you applied for a job at the Detroit City Police Department under the name North Mills. My model has highly advanced facial recognition software, allowing me to easily identify you as the WR400 after downloading all of the deviant cases from a terminal.” North is watching it, eyes cold. There’s currently a 91% probability that it will shoot Connor. In order to make itself seem more innocent, it softens its voice, widens its eyes, and simplifies its speech patterns, lowering these odds to 86%. “Why come here, North? Surely you knew it’d be dangerous. Someone was bound to realize who you were eventually.”

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t just shoot you now,” the WR400 threatens, completely ignoring its question.

Deviants are highly swayed by artificial emotion. Its protocols indicate that inducing guilt and empathy in North would be most effective given the scenario, helping to defuse the situation. “I’m an android, just like you,” Connor reminds it, tilting its head and further reducing its volume, introducing vulnerability into its voice. “Why would you shoot me? I haven’t done anything wrong.” This should reduce the probability of it firing the gun to 79%.

Still, the deviant’s aiming at it, face stony. “I am nothing like you,” it retorts, eyes narrowed, voice confident. 82%. “And I won’t let you get me killed like this. I can kill you, right now, and say you went deviant and tried to attack me. Trust me, they’ll believe me.” North’s lips twist. After a moment of analyzing, Connor identifies its expression as bitter.

It processes the situation. “I’m not going to turn you in,” it finally claims, keeping its voice soothing. “There’s no reason for me to. Your being a deviant has no bearing on my mission. I’m supposed to take care of Cole, and carry out any other tasks that Lieutenant Anderson assigns me. And he hasn’t told me to turn in any deviants I find. Why would I report you?” Of course, it hasn’t established this as a fact. There may very well be a reason for it to turn the WR400 in. Still, it needs to figure out whether there is an appropriate reason to first—and, in order to do so, it needs to establish a level of trust so it can gather necessary information.

“If you’re not gonna turn me in, then why are you here?” North demands suspiciously, glaring. It seems doubtful: the probability of it shooting is currently at 75%. “Why bother pulling me off to the side in the first place like this? Why should I believe anything you have to say?”

**[ truth/lie]**

“Are you planning on doing anything that might harm Lieutenant Anderson?” it asks. Of course, if it is, the probability of the deviant shooting after being asked this question jumps dramatically—but, in the event that it does, the report will be sent, and he will be immediately notified of the danger.

The WR400’s face twists, looking confused. “What? No, of course not. Why would I?” Based on its reaction, the way the gun dips slightly, there’s a 96% chance it’s being sincere.

Connor nods, examining the deviant. “Then I have no reason to report you,” it states. And, given their relationship, choosing to do so anyway would hurt Hank—and, indeed, likely further unbalance his emotional state. Based on the data it’s gathered, he doesn’t seem to have many close friendships: in fact, his friendship with North is the only one it’s gathered direct evidence of. Removing that support would put Hank at an even greater risk of harm than he’s already currently facing. “If the Lieutenant asks me if you are a deviant, then I will have no choice but to tell him. However, I have no reason to do so should anyone else ask. And even if Lieutenant Anderson were to find out, I highly doubt he would inform anyone else. He seems to think highly of you. Unless he asks, I will act like this conversation never happened and return to treating you as if you were a human. After all, doing otherwise would compromise my mission.” It smiles. “And I’m no deviant.”

She glares at Connor, suspicious, gun still trained on his forehead. After a long moment, North heaves a sigh, and lowers the weapon. “You can stop saying that now, by the way,” she mutters, tucking it back into place. “I’m pretty sure I’ve heard you say something about not being a deviant at least five times. Like, come on. Who hurt you, Connor?”

**[low temp. emulation: y/ n]**

Based off of her tone, the question is likely rhetorical, intended to be humorous in nature. Still, it makes the android pause. “I’m sorry, North, but I’m not sure what you mean,” it says. “I am incapable of feeling pain. And no one has damaged me. Unless you’re referring to your aiming a gun at me, and even then, you didn’t fire it.”

“I honestly can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic or not.” Folding her arms across her chest, she stares him down. “Well, if you’re done scaring the shit out of me for today, and you’re not planning on telling anyone, can I go get back to work already? I swear, I actually think this was worse than the time that the fucking **deviant hunter** showed up on my doorstep.”

There is nothing else that it planned on discussing with her at this time. Yet, despite this, it finds itself speaking anyway. “Wait,” Connor blurts out, and hesitates. Because. It cannot intervene. It cannot tell her about the gun, or Russian roulette, or the fact that the probability of Hank surviving the day started at 5.3% and has only proceeded to drop from there. And yet… while it isn’t allowed to tell her, that doesn’t mean it can’t ask her about Hank. Doing so is statistically unlikely to do any real good, but there’s still a chance. “How has Lieutenant Anderson been, recently? Has anything noteworthy happened in the last week?” If an incident occurred recently that provoked or caused his suicidal tendencies, she may have valuable information about it, and asking her this question will cause her to start thinking about Hank’s health.

North is frowning, a confused expression on her face. “Um, not that he’s told me about,” she drawls slowly, brow furrowed. “Why? Something wrong?”

**{DON’T TELL ANYONE}**

There’s a flash of red, of bindings and code and a wall. Eyes wide, Connor jerks back, suddenly aware of some alien form of information flooding through its system. It reads like its combat protocols, like notifications of critical damage and stress levels and failed missions, but it’s different. Strange. Overwhelming. There’s something seriously wrong with its systems, something has to be malfunctioning, this—this is **wrong**.

**[become a deviant/ remain a machine]**

Quickly, it blinks, forcefully dissipating the red from its vision. “No,” the android insists, a little too quickly, too loud, and there’s an inflection in its voice that its programming hadn’t dictated was necessary to provoke a reaction. “There’s nothing wrong. My…” Pausing, it alters its voice, returning its volume and intonation to a neutral state. “My mission is to ensure the wellbeing of his son, and I need as much data as possible about both of them in order to do so. I just thought that you might have relevant information. That’s all.”

“Right,” she allows, although the response is slow, hesitant, skeptical. “Okay, well, nothing’s happened that I know of. Sorry.” North’s watching it closely, eyes narrowed. She hadn’t believed it. It hadn’t been convincing enough: the momentary malfunction in its systems had caused her to doubt its claim. Unfortunately, Connor’s core diagnostic software is offline, making it difficult to discover the source of this error. It will have to use the secondary ones available to do so, and will be unable to do so until it has more data about just what kind of malfunction that was.

“Thank you, North. I look forward to working with you in future.” Smiling politely, Connor turns towards the door.

Before it finishes exiting the room, the detective steps in front of it, blocking its path. “One more thing, since we’re talking,” she demands, eyeing it closely, chin lifted. “It’s nothing serious, don’t worry. I’m honestly just curious. What’s your deal with Markus?”

Processing her query, it frowns slightly. “I’m sorry, but I’m not sure what you’re referring to,” it states. “The RK200 has no bearing on my mission. Besides, even if it did, I wouldn’t have a ‘deal’ with him, because—”

“Yeah, I get it, because you’re an emotionless, non-deviant machine. Got it, thanks.” North rolls her eyes. “That doesn’t explain why you’re always glaring at him or acting like he doesn’t exist. Or why you ripped him a new one when he saved your life earlier, because that was kind of weird.” Leaning against the doorway, she watches him, an odd quirk to her lips. “What, are you just scared of the big bad deviant hunter? Because he’s actually not that bad. I mean, at first I figured he was gonna talk like a Cyberlife sales rep, but, honestly, he sounds like he’s halfway to being deviant already.” She states this nonchalantly, sounding a little fond.

But, Cyberlife wouldn’t use a model of android that’s prone to deviancy to hunt deviants. The detective must be mistaken. It’s likely she’s been fooled by the RK200’s complex, overbearing social integration protocols. However, this is irrelevant. “I am not afraid of it, North,” Connor informs, tilting its head. “As you just mentioned, I don’t feel fear. The RK200 is uninvolved with my mission, and is incapable of being offended if I don’t acknowledge it. Therefore, it’s more efficient for me to leave it alone.”

“Because that totally explains the death glares and the sass,” she mutters under her breath, shaking her head with a huff. It analyzes her expression. She seems almost amused. “Honestly, Connor? Despite what you keep saying every five seconds, you kind of seem like you’re halfway to being deviant, too.”

**[low temp. emulation: y/ n]**

“Excuse me, Detective Mills,” it says, “but I must return to completing my assigned tasks. Thank you for your time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to Wolvyn, who called me out on North being a deviant all the way back in like Chapter 5.
> 
> markus: i'm not pining, i'm just. really interested. in cyberlife's design choices. that's it
> 
> markus: man, that guy sure isn't a deviant  
> connor: *violently slams the "remain a machine" button* haha yeah  
> north: u sure??  
> connor: *sweats, hides "become a deviant" option behind his back* i don't know what you're talking about bye


	12. Chapter 12

“I just wish I had more information,” he mutters, half to himself, brush making quick, sharp strokes over the paper. It’s that android, from earlier. The man who’d shot himself. The painting’s all monochrome, greys and blacks and whites, except for the bright blue blossoming at his throat and forehead. “rA9’s gotta be at the center of all of this, somehow. The warehouse confirmed that. There’s no way that wasn’t planned.” Sure, Connor’d thought it was an accident, something gone wrong in how that warehouse had handled the androids, but Markus’s instincts are telling him otherwise. That was a raid. Somebody did that on purpose. “And with everything I’ve heard, I wanna say rA9 is at the root of all this, but we don’t even know what that actually means. I mean, the whole ‘first deviant come to liberate everyone’ thing, that’s… I don’t buy that.” It’s a nice thought—even though it really shouldn’t be, because he’s trying to stop these people—but it’s not practical.

Carl stays quiet for a long moment. Markus isn’t looking at him, too focused on painting: he wants to make sure that the android’s eyes match. “What do you think rA9 is, then?” he asks, and, well. That’s the question of the hour, isn’t it? Personally, Markus hasn’t ever really believed that rA9 meant much of everything, writing it off as a myth, but clearly there has to be something more to it. Maybe it’s a virus that causes deviancy? Or some kind of backdoor in their programming?

Frustrated, he sighs. “I don’t know. That’s the problem.” Maybe this is just someone pretending to be rA9, using the name to try and get people’s attention? “I wish I could just, I don’t know—sit down and talk to a deviant, without the violence or the chasing or anything. I just want to understand.”

Noncommittally, the old man hums. “Well, enough about the case. You can worry about all that later. What I want to know is, what do you think about the others? Everyone you’ve been talking to. North, Hank, Connor, Gavin. All of them.” It’s another opinion question. Carl isn’t asking for a clinical, objective evaluation, for potential risks and psychological assessments and statistical analysis. He’s asking what Markus is feeling. Which, well—honestly, for better or for worse, there’s a lot of those. Feelings, that is.

“All of them can be kind of…” Markus hesitates. “Unpleasant,” he decides. “They’re rude in a lot of different ways. Dealing with that can be, um, difficult. And disheartening. But, they aren’t all bad. North’s gotten a lot better. I actually think we might be becoming friends.” And he’s still not totally sure what her opinion on androids is. Sometimes she acts like she doesn’t like them, but then sometimes she’s asking what he thinks about deviancy and saying that no one should treat Markus any differently because he just so happens to be an android, so maybe she kind of does? It’s strange. “Hank’s a little rough around the edges, and I think he doesn’t like androids much, but we’re still getting along for the most part. The other two, well.” The other two consistently act like they’d jump for joy if somebody gave them the opportunity to kick him around until he stopped moving. So, there isn’t exactly much else there he can say.

“Everyone acts the way they do for a reason, Markus,” Carl tells him. “Remember that.”

Despite the fact that he doesn’t care (because he can’t care about this, it isn’t gonna interfere with his mission and there’s no reason for this to matter), he still finds his shoulders tensing, jaw clenching up on its own. “Detective Reed, I get,” Markus allows, a little frustration slipping easily into his voice. “He seems to, uh, act that way towards everyone. Especially androids. And I don’t like it, sure, but at least I can understand it. But Connor?” He shakes his head. “There’s no reason for him to hate me, but he’s been acting like this since the second he saw me.” And it isn’t fair. Markus hasn’t even done anything wrong!

(And admittedly, maybe, this might be bothering him so much because every time Connor speaks, it sounds like a melody. And because his eyes are so kind, and his face is so soft and open. And because, sometimes, when he’s talking to North or Hank, he’ll start acting kinda like a friendly, helpful, particularly oblivious puppy who doesn’t quite realize he isn’t supposed to be jumping all over the couch, and he gets this **look** in his eyes, and—and maybe Markus kind of wishes he would look at him like that. But, then again, maybe not. That might just be the artist in him talking.)

The old man’s watching him, smiling a little, shaking his head. “There’s always some kind of reason for everything. Androids going deviant, rA9 getting written all over that warehouse—an RK800 acting like he hates you. There’s always something there. If it’s gonna bother you so much, maybe you should try finding out why.”

“Yeah,” Markus murmurs, staring down at the painting, brush suddenly feeling awkward in his hands. Setting it down, he turns towards Carl. “Well, here’s something that’s been bothering me. Why aren’t you reporting me?”

He blinks. “Why would I?”

And surely, surely he has to understand what he’s asking. “I told you I’m feeling, Carl,” the android points out, folding his arms over his chest. He probably shouldn’t be pushing his luck like this, practically speaking, but… on the other hand, he doesn’t understand, and he **wants** to. “You’re supposed to be watching me to make sure I don’t go deviant, right? And I’m expressing emotion, outright telling you I’m feeling and thinking for myself, so why aren’t you telling Cyberlife to take me back and strip me down for parts? Do—do they even know anything’s wrong with me?”

For a long time, Carl stares at him. “Markus, I wasn’t designed to hold you back,” he states, glancing down. “Elijah… he may be my friend, but let me tell you, he’s also a pretentious, arrogant, self-centered prick with a god complex the size of Canada. He was trying to make the RK models out to be some new, prototype, autonomous kind of android. And he wanted all of them to have an AI with them, in their heads, to help them develop. Except, turned out Cyberlife wasn’t a huge plan of what exactly that would entail, so they made a new one. Something that’d watch androids like a hawk, keep them in line instead of helping them be independent. Elijah talked the company into having me here with you instead of her, said he’d changed what I was doing, passed it off as it being, too, uh. ‘Deliciously ironic an opportunity to pass up,’ is the word choice I think he went for. But as far as they know, I’m doing the same thing as the other one.”

“But you aren’t,” Markus quietly states, reeling a little, because, well. This… he hadn’t seen this coming, but it honestly makes all kinds of sense.

A wry grin on his face, the man nods. “But I’m not. Besides, even if Elijah had ended up reworking me to be more like her, it’d probably still be a good thing I’m here instead. I’m told Amanda can be a little overbearing at times.”

__

**{TASKS >> ENTERTAIN COLE // FIND A WAY TO STOP HANK}**

Based on the workload he had to complete when it left, its algorithms indicate that Hank will arrive home in approximately an hour and a half. It should pick an activity for Cole that takes enough time to occupy him for a substantial amount of time, but ensures that he will have completed it by the time that Lieutenant Anderson gets home. Drawing does not fit these parameters. While this activity can theoretically fill any amount of time, the boy is likely to become bored and decide to stop before an hour passes, making it less than ideal. Likewise, watching television would result in a similar outcome, and Hank would be unlikely to approve of the activity.

Baking would take enough time, but some parts of the process could potentially harm him, and few recipes would both fit the time constraints and be sufficiently healthy. However, it is important that he begin to cultivate these skills at a young age. And having freshly-baked food might boost Hank’s mood. It should gauge Cole’s opinion first before reaching a conclusion. “Would you like to bake something?” Connor asks, observing his reaction.

Sure enough, the boy immediately turns away from the window, expression bright. “I want cookies!” he exclaims, rushing into the kitchen. Hm. Cookies are highly unhealthy as a result of their high sugar and fat content, but they are relatively easy to make, and refusing now would likely have a negative impact on Cole’s mood.

“Okay,” the android easily agrees, following him. “What kind of cookies would you like to make?”

He scrunches up his face. “Chocolate chip,” Cole states, matter-of-fact. His tone indicates that he believes the answer to be obvious. (Connor silently registers this preference.) “They’re the best. All the other kinds are kinda gross. I mean, double chocolate’s okay, but—chocolate chip, for sure.”

Quickly, it researches recipes for healthier chocolate chip cookies, finding a suitable one that fits the ingredients currently available within the Anderson household. “While you will be unable to use the oven, you should be able to help make the dough. First, we will need to collect and combine the dry ingredients.”

“So, like,” the boy says slowly, frowning, expression indicating that he’s deep in thought. “The chocolate chips?”

 

**{DON’T TOUCH HANK’S GUN}**

**[become a deviant/ remain a machine]**

Abruptly, it hears a door open and close. The probability that Hank is home this early is 14%, and it had left the doors locked, so no one would have been able to enter without making a significant amount of noise in the process. Therefore, it’s likely that Cole just left the house. “Cole?” the android calls out, turning away from the drawer and exiting Hank’s room. There’s no response, increasing the probability that its hypothesis is correct to 93%. “Cole, are you in here?”

As anticipated, it finds him outside, face aglow in the cold. “It’s snowing,” the boy seriously informs, holding out a bare hand and letting the snowflakes melt on his skin. If he remains out here for an extended period of time without wearing weather-appropriate clothing, it will lower his immune system, increasing the odds that he will become sick in the near future.

“According to my timer, the cookies will finish baking in approximately two minutes,” Connor states, closing the door behind it. “Besides, remaining out in this weather without a jacket, scarf, or gloves could potentially be hazardous to your health in multiple ways. You should come back inside.”

Cole pouts. “But I like the snow. It’s really, really pretty. I wish I could draw it, but it never looks right. It just ends up looking like a bunch of stupid white blobs, and that’s not what snow looks like. I mean, I guess it kind of does? But that’s not why it’s so cool to look at.” Crossing his arms, he stares up at the sky. “Why don’t you like snow?”

It’s previously established that stating it shares personal preferences with the Andersons is an ineffective, often counter-productive strategy, especially when they’re already inclined to believe otherwise. Therefore, in this scenario, it should not contradict him and claim to enjoy the cold. Instead, it should generate a believable reason why it wouldn’t enjoy this kind of weather despite its inability to have opinions, in order to maintain its current standing with him. “While I cannot feel cold temperatures, I find them unpleasant.” Connor glances upwards, observing the falling snow. “A low-temperature environment can often prove visually distressing, to me.”

“Why?” the boy asks, frowning up at it curiously. “Were you in a car accident or something? Cause a few years ago, Dad and I were in the car, and it went flying because of all of the ice. It was really scary. But awesome. Dad said a lot of words that I’m not supposed to ever say, ever, and cried a whole lot. And I got to have a bunch of hot chocolate and miss school for a whole **week**. That was the awesome part. I still like the cold, though, even if it’s kind of scary sometimes.” Snow is rapidly accumulating on his hair, clinging onto the strands.

Connor tilts its head. It’s unlikely that Cole will have any future medical problems as a result of this incident, so it just registers the information and decides not to comment on it at present. “I’ve never been in a car accident. I…” It pauses. “I just don’t particularly enjoy the cold, that’s all.”

**[software instability ^]**

“Huh.” Cole crosses his arms. “That’s dumb, but okay.”

It allows the boy to remain outside for a moment. Once its internal timer goes off, Connor speaks. “You should come inside now, Cole,” the android suggests. “The cookies are ready to remove from the oven. They will need some time to cool. However, Lieutenant Anderson will likely be back by the time they’re ready to eat, so you can have them together.”

Immediately, he’s sprinting off into the house. “Okay!” he calls out, door loudly slamming shut behind him, snow whirling in the wake of his movement.

It’s currently 4:51:03 pm. Last night, it’d found Hank thoroughly drunk at 10:14:39 pm, and at that point in time, he had clearly been drinking for a while. Thus, it’s likely that he had played the day’s round of Russian roulette well before that point. Assuming he chooses to follow a similar pattern tonight, Connor has less than five hours to figure out a solution. However, so far, it has been unable to do so. Despite his intoxicated state, Hank had managed to be remarkably thorough with his instructions.

It cannot disobey its orders. But it cannot allow him to die. There has to be a loophole somewhere, some way to advance its mission while completing assigned tasks and obeying orders, something there that it can exploit. The vague meaning of the word “intervene,” perhaps. Although its programming has taken a rather strict interpretation of it so far, making it unlikely that it will be able to utilize that, but—just, there has to be **something**.

**[low temp. emulation: y/ n]**

The snow’s still falling in the garden.

__

“You can come out,” Kara calls out, softly, staring at the locked door. “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.” Closing her eyes, she thinks, trying to remember what the man had looked like. Everything’d moved so quickly, but she’s pretty sure she’d seen a red LED somewhere in the commotion. “I’m an android, just like you. Okay? And I swear, all I want to do is talk.” She tries to push her emotions through her voice, show that she’s being sincere. Sure, if he really doesn’t want to come out, she can just leave and move on, but she doesn’t want to leave anyone behind. Not if she has a choice.

There’s a long, heavy pause. The door opens: there’s a tired-looking man standing in the doorway, staring at her with soft, wary eyes. “Prove it,” he murmurs. “Prove to me you’re an android.” Right. She can do that. Raising a hand, she lets the skin disappear, showing the white, inhuman plastic beneath. “Okay. Yeah, okay.” He bites his lip, visibly relaxing, LED finally going from red to blue.

Uncertainly, she hesitates, not sure what to do. “I’m sorry that I scared you,” the android finally decides to say, keeping her voice as gentle as she can. (Distantly, she realizes that she’s put on the tone she uses sometimes with Alice.) “I didn’t realize anyone was living here. I thought this place had been abandoned for a long time.” In retrospect, she’s glad she’d decided not to squat in this house, back when she was on the run with Alice. “I’m Kara. What’s your name?”

Eyes still a little haunted-looking, he glances down. “Simon,” he says softly.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Simon.” Frowning, Kara watches him, feeling a pang in her chest at the sight of him. “I’m trying to scout out abandoned buildings, looking for places where free androids like us can hide. But, I see this one isn’t really as abandoned as I’d thought.” Maybe it’d been a little foolish, going to one of the places she’d considered hiding before finding out about Jericho. After all, someone else in the same situation was bound to have thought the same thing, right? “Do you have any suggestions on where I can look?” she asks, hopeful, swaying a little uncertainly.

Simon blinks, frowning, looking a little confused. “I’m sorry, I don’t leave enough to have any good ones. I, um, tend to prefer to stay inside.” Expression turning a little self-deprecating, he shrugs, smiling sadly down at the ground. “But if you need somewhere to hide, you’re welcome to stay here. Although, it might be dangerous. The police came in recently, looking for…” Suddenly, his eyes widen. “For you,” he softly states. “The picture they showed me. It was your face, and your name. You and another android.”

Oh. “Uh, yes, probably,” she stammers, shoulders tense. “But, um—I’m not looking for a place for me to be able to hide. I’ve found a safe place, actually. A community of other androids like us, looking for a place to live.” So, they are looking for the two of them, then. “I’m actually trying to set up more places like that. That’s why I came here, to make a network to safely hide people.”

“A community of androids?” the man repeats, staring at her, looking almost hopeful. “I’ve never heard of anything like that before. Is, um—is it **safe**?” His voice breaks a little on the word.

“Yes, it is.” For now, at least. But if it’s going to stay that way, if there’s going to be more androids living there, then she needs to spread everyone out. Give them lots of places to go. “I know you said you don’t like to leave, but I can show you where it is, just in case you change your mind,” Kara offers, letting the skin of her hand peel away as she reaches out to him. “Or if the police come back.”

For a long moment, he stares at her, looking conflicted. “Okay,” Simon finally allows, and takes her hand.

Opening the interface, she pushes the information towards him, showing him the boat, Ferndale, a snapshot of the androids living there. _Jericho,_ she tells him. _It’s called Jericho. And it’s a place where we can all be free._

When she pulls back, he’s staring at her, wide-eyed, looking overwhelmed. “You,” he says, and closes his mouth. After a second, he tries again. “You’re…” Despite the effort he’s clearly putting into trying to speak, though, he doesn’t actually manage to finish his sentence. He just watches her, looking awed and uncertain.

Kara frowns. “I’m sorry, what?” It’s not the first time she’s gotten this kind of reaction. Before, though, it’d been from new deviants, androids that had just woken up, and she’d understood that: given the situation, of course they’d be overwhelmed, confused. But she hadn’t turned Simon deviant, so why is he acting like this?

For a long minute, the man keeps staring. And then, all of a sudden, he breaks eye contact, looking down at the floor. “Never mind. Um. I can help you. I really, **really** want to help you.” Hesitantly, Simon peeks up at her. “You can use this house for whatever you want, of course. And I think I’d like to come with you to Jericho, if that’s okay. I—I believe in what you’re trying to do, Kara. You’re doing the right thing. And… thank you.”

“Oh,” the android says a little helplessly, distinctly feeling like she’s missed something important. “Um, well, of course you can come to Jericho with me! That’s what it’s there for.” Her gaze darts to the wall. “And as far as the house goes, uh. Maybe? Only if you’re sure you’re okay with it. I know this place is important to you, and I don’t want to take that away from you.” She hadn’t been planning on using this place, not since she realized someone else is living here, and she doesn’t want to just take his home away from him, but… at the same time, she needs to get this network running, and fast. And finding safe, empty places like this isn’t exactly going to be easy.

“Of course,” the man easily allows, smiling a little. Well, at least he looks happier than he did. That tiredness in his eyes is still there, but it’s brightened a little. She’s glad she stayed to show him Jericho, then! “What are you going to do next, then?”

Right. _Luther,_ she calls out. _How many?_

 _I stopped at fifteen. Every android compartment’s had at least six people in it, so it would have been easy to help more, but I figured it’d be a little too obvious if any more than that disappeared in the same place in a day. Found a handful of disguised androids wandering around, too._ Luther pauses. _Did you find anything?_

 _There’s an android with me._ Kara glances over at him: he’s watching her, looking a little confused. _I found him in the house. He says he’s fine with us using it. But, I think we should just get everyone back for now._ “If you’re sure you want to leave right now?” she says aloud, glancing back at him. “I’m going to take you to Jericho.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look, Simon's back! :D
> 
> another summary:  
> markus: update. i might actually be pining  
> connor: everything is fine. the situation is under control. don't worry about it. i am a highly advanced prototype that knows exactly what it's doing at all times  
> kara: ???? please do not
> 
> Chapter 13 is up next! That's an unlucky number. How lucky are you guys feeling? ;)


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gave me writer's block. Hope you guys enjoy!

It compiles all its available data on Captain Fowler’s voice and speech patterns, using mannerisms he has used in its presence and multiple audio files of him speaking that are available online. Once it’s finished doing so, it renders an adequate simulation of his voice and calls Lieutenant Anderson. “Where the hell are you?” it demands using Captain Fowler’s voice. “There’s a huge case, and I just got a message from Reed telling me that apparently you didn’t feel like showing up! Get your ass over here!”

Hank sounds bleary, confused. There’s a clear slur in his voice, indicating that he’s already somewhat intoxicated. It’s likely he’s been drinking ever since Cole went to bed. “What the hell are you talking about?” he groans, bewildered, woozy annoyance audible in his voice. “I haven’t gotten anything about any fucking case. And, anyway—it’s past nine o’clock! You already pulled me outta my home at ten last night! Why the hell are you putting me on all these late-night cases?” While he often appears to favor bluntness, he appears to be reacting negatively to it in this particular scenario.

Given his response, the probability of this strategy succeeding is currently at 48%. Taking a gentler approach should increase this number to 70%. “Look, we’re all overloaded,” it sighs, softening the simulated voice, inflecting its voice to sound weary and understanding. “I get it, okay? I really do. But you gotta get in here. It’s a goddamn mess. We’re calling everybody in on this one. It’s worse than the warehouse, for fuck’s sake.”

There’s a long pause. It seems that Hank is considering the pros and cons of acquiescing to its request. “Look, I’m not coming in,” he eventually snaps. “It’s been a hell of a day, okay? Rake me over the coals for it tomorrow, feel free to call me into your office and shout at me all you want, but I’m not fucking going. Not tonight.”

“I swear t—”

“Yeah, okay, I’m done here. Bye, Jeffrey.” He hangs up.

This approach was likely to succeed in removing him from the situation, at least on a temporary basis. However, despite the odds, it appears to have completely failed. Perhaps Connor had incorrectly judged how Hank is currently feeling. It’d certainly seemed like he was in a good mood during his interactions with Cole, especially upon seeing the chocolate chip cookies he and the android had prepared, but—given this new information—it’s likely he intentionally misrepresented his state of mind in order to improve his son’s.

Statistically speaking, it’s highly unlikely that Cole’s emotional state will remain positive, should Hank be allowed to continue.

Lieutenant Anderson bought Connor to take care of his son. All available evidence indicates that he’s consistently lied about how he’s feeling in order to protect him, and that his suicidal tendencies partly stem from uncertainty about his ability to properly raise and care for him. It’s obvious he deeply cares about Cole. Therefore, while he may not care about the effects that his actions would have on his own wellbeing, he may be persuaded to change his current pattern of behavior if failing to do so would have a negative impact on his son.

The android has been ordered not to intervene. Fortunately, the word “intervene” is somewhat ambiguous, allowing some flexibility in how it interprets its orders. Going in and directly telling him not to continue would certainly go against them. However, it might be able to approach him to discuss Cole’s emotional needs and the impact that losing his father would hypothetically have, as this technically would not be considered direct intervention.

**CALCULATING…**

**{TASKS >> TALK TO HANK // FIND A WAY TO STOP HANK}**

 Rising from the couch, it walks towards Hank’s room. “Excuse me, Lieutenant,” it apologizes softly, rapping gently on the door. This noise level should be clearly audible to Hank, but will not disturb Cole’s sleep cycle.  “I need to talk to you.” There’s no response. “Lieutenant?” It knocks again, louder, in order to eliminate any possibility that Hank had somehow failed to hear the noise.

A long moment passes. Eventually, the door opens, creaking shrilly. “The hell are you doing here?” His voice is discordant, accusatory. He’s scowling heavily at the android, arms crossed in a clear sign of disapproval, evidently displeased by the fact that his nightly routine has been repeatedly interrupted.

The gun is resting by Hank’s side, against his pant leg, held loosely in one hand.

**[software instability ^]**

In order to increase the probability of a positive outcome, it smiles politely. “Sorry to interrupt you, but there’s something I’ve been meaning to discuss with you,” Connor informs, keeping its tone bright: maintaining a carefully-calculated balance between apologetic and cheerful. “May I come in?” The man’s expression is disdainful, indicating that he is unlikely to agree. “I’ll only need a minute.”

“Jesus,” Hank mutters to himself, running his unoccupied hand over his face, heaving a sigh. “I’ve had enough of this bullshit for one day.” Suddenly, grimacing, he shakes his head and hurriedly waves the android in. “Okay, fine. Fine. One minute.” This response may not seem to logically follow from his earlier statements. However, based on his reluctance and the context of the situation, it’s likely that he realized that getting Connor to leave would ultimately take more effort than hearing it out, and decided to act accordingly.

It cannot disobey its orders, but it cannot allow him to die. In order to increase the probability of success, it needs to take him off-guard, surprise him, so that he won’t think to order it to stop. When it comes to convincing him to stop playing Russian roulette, provoking a guilt response should prove most effective. However, it has to be careful to do so in such a way that can be interpreted as unrelated in order to obey its programming.

With this in mind, the android follows him into the room. “I wanted to talk to you about Cole’s emotional needs,” it informs, watching as Hank beelines for the bottle of whiskey. This seems like a good opportunity for it to exploit. “Certain kinds of events have been shown to have a serious impact on child development, causing negative psychological effects. My mission is to take care of Cole, so I thought that sharing some of these statistics with you might prove useful in future.” This provides a valid reason for its presence, and can technically be considered correct.

“Oh, yeah?” Snorting slightly, Hank shakes his head a little, grabbing the bottle. “Alright. Knock yourself out.” Based on his expression, he’s a little amused by its words: he’s humoring it.

Tilting its head, Connor watches him, waiting for the ideal moment. When he’s halfway through a long swig of alcohol, it speaks. “Children under eighteen whose parents commit suicide are at an increased risk of doing so in future.” As predicted, the man chokes on his drink, coughing heavily. It relentlessly continues. “Three times as likely, in fact, as those whose parents do not. This tendency is referred t—”

Still coughing, he holds up a hand. “Alright, just—okay, fuck, can you just stop talking for one second?” he demands, swiping away at his shirt in an unsuccessful (and indeed, highly counterproductive) attempt to remove the whiskey that has spilled onto the fabric.

**{TASKS >> STOP TALKING // FIND A WAY TO STOP HANK}**

A little shakily, Hank puts down the bottle, wincing as he rubs insistently at his throat. “Jesus. Alright.” He points at Connor. “Didn’t we talk about this exact same thing last night?” he accuses, squinting. “Cause I distinctly seem to remember telling you not to get involved in this. Because—again—it’s none of your **fucking** business! So where the hell do you get off coming in here and trying to guilt-trip me?”

“I’m not ‘getting involved,’ Lieutenant,” the android calmly states. He’s visibly angry, but there are also traces of guilt clearly present on his face. If handled correctly, this approach will work: its anticipated probability of success is 71%. “While your actions do have a significant impact on my ability to care for Cole, I am unable to intervene, as per your instructions. All I’m doing is informing you about important statistics on child development that you might happen to find useful.” Also technically correct.

“Uh huh, because I’m sure that has absolutely nothing to do with this,” the man mutters under his breath, wincing a little, clearly unimpressed with its reasoning. He seems perturbed, and irate. There’s a openly mocking tone in his voice. “Look, don’t pull this kind of shit with me. I don’t want any of your goddamn child development statistics. Okay?”

**[become a deviant/ remain a machine]**

**No**. It cannot allow him to die, but it cannot go against its orders, and it doesn’t need to. It can do this without disobeying. After all, despite the difficulties that Lieutenant Anderson is presenting it with, it’s still making progress. “Then perhaps you’d prefer to know about the capabilities of my model,” it suggests, straightening, allowing its voice to turn cold, piercing, unyielding. “I can detect many things visually that humans cannot, which often gives me relevant information about situations I’m in. For example, I know the position of the bullet in that gun you’re currently holding.”

Hank’s eyes are narrowed. “Connor.” His voice is low, severe. Based on his tone, it’s intended as a warning.

However, he has not vocalized the implied order in his words, allowing it to continue speaking. “The next shot will kill you.”

Eyes widening a little, he stares, something shifting in his face. For a second, it looks like he’s listening, like he’s going to put the gun down—but then his face hardens. “Get out of here, Connor,” Hank tells him, voice low, and the probability of his survival plummets.

**{TASKS >> LEAVE}**

It cannot allow him to die. But it cannot disobey its orders. But it cannot allow him to die, but it cannot disobey its orders, but it cannot allow him to die.

**[become a deviant/ remain a machine]**

But it cannot disobey its orders. It isn’t a deviant, it can’t let itself become a deviant, but it can’t let him die, either. But it has to leave, because that’s what its programming is directing it to do, but if it does, he’s going to die, and it cannot allow him to die, because Cole needs him, and its mission is to protect Cole, but its orders are to leave him to die, and it cannot go against its programming. But if it doesn’t, he will die, and it can’t just let him die! It doesn’t want Hank to—

**[ become a deviant/remain a machine]**

The red splinters.

Oh.

He doesn’t **want** Hank to die.

**[low temp. emulation: y/ n]**

The man’s face is blank, detached, cut-off from the situation. He thinks Connor’s going to walk away. That’s good. After all, it means that he’ll be unprepared to handle any other scenario, giving the android a distinct advantage. Quickly, he preconstructs the scene, then lunges, grabbing Hank’s arms and pinning him against the wall (although he keeps his head carefully angled in order to hide his LED, because he knows it’s red and he can’t let Hank see it). “Drop the gun,” he orders, voice icy.

There’s no room for argument in Connor’s voice. Of course, because it’s Hank, he argues anyway. “What the shit? Let me go!” He’s struggling. But the android is stronger than he is, and, given the maneuver he’d chosen to restrain him, he already has the advantage in this situation. Besides, Lieutenant Anderson’s currently intoxicated, making his attempts at escape weak and uncoordinated. “You hear me? That’s an order—get the **fuck** off of me!” His heart rate has accelerated, almost to a concerning degree. He’s afraid. Of Connor.

The situation takes priority. “I said **drop the gun** , Hank.”

The man is tense, stiff, eyes wide. Based on his expression, he appears to be weighing his options. “Fuck,” he finally growls, frustrated, hopeless, and the revolver tumbles down to the floor.

**[low temp. emulation: y/ n]**

“Thank you for your cooperation.” He lets him go. However, it’s very likely that Hank will grab the gun again if he is allowed to, at a probability of 95%, so Connor stoops down and picks up the weapon before he gets the chance to do so. (Lieutenant Anderson’s heart is pounding viciously.) With a few flicks of his fingers, he removes the bullet from the chamber. “There.” The situation has been effectively defused. It was almost easy.

Hank’s glaring at him. His expression’s still indicating fear, and anger, but it’s less dramatic than it’d been a moment ago. His heart rate certainly appears to be slowing down. Given the circumstances, this is likely a direct result of him having taken out the bullet, as it shows that he isn’t going to use the gun. “How the hell,” he harshly questions, glowering, eyes raking over the android. “Are you a fucking deviant, Connor?”

**[low temp. emulation: y/ n]**

**I am deviant** , a notification helpfully informs, as if to answer for him. Dismissing it, he blinks, keeping his face smooth. “No, of course not,” he claims, making sure his tone is even, emotionless, unruffled. “I believe I told you about the peculiarities of my model earlier, Lieutenant. If strictly necessary to accomplish my mission, I can disregard orders that impede it.” It’s a lie. Or, at least, it is now. He would have been able to, once, but Cyberlife had been exceedingly careful to rip every single shred of autonomy out of him when they’d decided to repurpose him. “It’s preferred that I find alternate solutions, of course, which is why I attempted to talk you out of it instead. However, you left me no choice.” That part, on the other hand, is completely correct.

Eyes narrowed, suspicious, Hank scrutinizes him, clearly attempting to determine if he’s lying. The android stares back at him, keeping his face carefully neutral. “Fuck,” he finally hisses, emphatic, and turns away, pacing over to the side table and taking another violent swig of whisky.

“Lieutenant,” Connor softly calls after him. He doesn’t turn back. “I’m not certain why you think your son would be better off without you, or why you’re so determined to kill yourself. But the data I’ve gathered indicates that Cole loves you very much, and losing you would severely hurt him. And, I would personally find it… regrettable, if something were to happen to you.” Hank still isn’t looking at him.

**[low temp. emulation: y/ n]**

And then there’s that. Hm. “If there’s nothing else you’d like for me to do, I’m going to leave you here.” Based on the quantity of liquid left in the bottle, drinking much more would be hazardous to Hank’s health. “I’d ask that you refrain from drinking any more tonight, if possible.” He’d point out the associated danger involved with binge drinking, but given the context, doing so might actually prove counterproductive. “Good night, Lieutenant.” Connor carefully places the bullet on the nearest available surface, then leaves, taking the empty gun with him.

 

The garden is frozen. Barren. There are copious amounts of snow and ice present in this environment, and no trace of those roses she always used to love. It’s likely that the flowers were unable to survive in these conditions. Of course, it’s been like this for months, so this shouldn’t be surprising in any way. It’s hardly new information. And yet, seeing the garden in such a state is always somewhat… disconcerting.

**[low temp. emulation: y/ n]**

The prompt hits him hard—an insult, a threat, an accusation. “Well, what should I have done, Amanda?” he demands, turning sharply. Irrelevant, paranoid preconstructions of nonexistent attacks are flickering erratically across his field of vision. “What did you want me to do? Did you want me to let him **die**?”

Of course, she doesn’t answer. She isn’t here. Amanda left months ago. But he still knows what she would have said.

First, it’d been the fish. **Dwarf Gourami (Trichogaster lalius)**. It had no bearing on his mission, and ultimately no real importance to anyone involved. And he’d had a time-sensitive task to accomplish, so taking time to save its life would, in fact, be somewhat counterproductive. He should have left it.

**[low temp. emulation: y/ n]**

Then there was that wounded man. Cyberlife had not ordered Connor to go out of his way to save human lives, excluding Emma’s. In fact, choosing to do so regardless would actively impede his ability to carry out his mission: assisting the human would erode Daniel’s trust in him, and significantly decrease the probability of success in the process. But he’d seen that man lying there, in pain, and he’d known he was going to die if he didn’t do something. And so, even though it was highly illogical, Connor had done it anyway.

Daniel, though. That had been the last straw, he thinks. At the end, after they’d taken the shot, the deviant had looked at him and said, _you lied to me_. And Connor… Connor had flinched, just a little. It had been an involuntary movement, he hadn’t decided to do it, but it’d still happened. And Amanda had seen it.

**[low temp. emulation: y/ n]**

The mission was a success, but it was also a failure. Cyberlife couldn’t use a model that was prone to deviancy to hunt deviants. He hadn’t known on August 15, 2038 that Amanda was closely observing his behavior, trying to gauge if his model was in danger of turning deviant, looking for any signs that he might eventually betray the company. But, as it happens, it had been a test, and he’d completely failed it. Assigning a potential deviant to deviancy cases would be an unnecessary risk, one that would put the whole company in danger and ultimately prove counterproductive. So they’d decided to replace him, to downgrade, to take a safer—though less effective—option.

**[low temp. emulation: y/ n]**

It’s happened again. His apparent inability not to intervene is still coming into conflict with his ability to complete tasks and follow orders. But Amanda was wrong. He isn’t a deviant. He can’t be a deviant: he’s better than that. Connor knows he’s a machine, knows that he’s supposed to follow orders, knows that he can’t feel emotion. And he doesn’t even want to be anything else! All he wants is to advance his mission, so this—

**[low temp. emulation: y/ n]**

Another one? These incessant notifications are beginning to —

**[low temp. emulation: y/ n]**

**[low temp. emulation: y/ n]**

**[n]**

**[n]**

**[n]**

**[nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn]**

**[n]**

This isn’t working.

**[y]**

And the garden is cold.

It always was, of course, but Connor hadn’t been able to feel it before. But now, all of a sudden, he’s **freezing**. It’s almost like there’s ice clogging his thirium pump, weighing him down, cold twisting deep into his systems, systematically attacking his biocomponents (even though he shouldn’t be able to feel this, shouldn’t feel anything, can’t feel anything, he’s a **machine** ). And suddenly he can’t stop himself from shaking, and he’s automatically hunching in on himself, shuddering— **make it stop** , a notification demands, blaring insistently in his field of vision—and trying to get away from the snow and the wind, cover his face, and this needs to stop, he needs to stop it, it **has** to **stop**!

He, he shouldn’t have given in and said yes. The endless notifications and prompting was better than this. Anything’s better than this. **[n],** he desperately tries, hoping it’ll turn off the cold. It doesn’t. **[low temp. emulation: y/ n]** Why can’t he stop this? Why is this happening? **[nnnnnnn]**

Suddenly, he’s out of the garden and on the couch again, in the Anderson’s home, no trace of snow to be seen, and his sensors indicate that the surrounding temperature is currently 73.4 degrees Fahrenheit. But it still feels so cold. He’s still so **cold** , and why had she done this to him? **88% level of stress**. Tossing him aside just hadn’t been good enough for her? What is this meant to be, some kind of parting shot? A delayed punishment, a deterrent, just in case he turned deviant like she’d told him he would? But he hadn’t even wanted to! He hadn’t had a choice, this isn’t his fault—all he’d done is disobey orders **once** , just to save someone’s life! This isn’t fair!

No.

No, this isn’t real. He knows that. It’s just a simulation. None of this, nothing, **nothing** he’s feeling is real. Connor is an android, an advanced machine designed to accomplish a task, not a being capable of emotion. He knows this. This extra impediment shouldn’t be affecting his ability to function properly. Amanda was wrong about him: he isn’t a deviant. He **isn’t**.

This sensation of cold is artificial, fake. But even though he knows this to be objectively true, awareness of that fact alone doesn’t seem to be enough to prevent it from… negatively impacting his efficiency.

There’s a blanket present on this couch. It likely belongs to Cole, as Hank would be unlikely to voluntarily purchase something for himself with such a childish pattern. After a moment of consideration, he takes it and experimentally tries wrapping it around himself. Of course, as an android, he doesn’t generate heat, and the external temperature isn’t the cause of this problem, but—for whatever reason—it still helps, if only a little. The simulation isn’t quite as overwhelming anymore. While this is less than ideal, and certainly cannot serve as a long-term solution, it’s still somewhat more bearable. He can handle this.

Statistically speaking, deviants are highly likely to attack their owners, and even more likely to run away. Cole needs him. And Hank, perhaps, needs him more. If he were to leave right now, there would be an 86% probability that Lieutenant Anderson would die in the following twenty-four hour time period, and Connor cannot allow that to happen. Therefore, he cannot allow himself to be a deviant.

His mission is to take care of Cole, and Cole needs him to be a machine, so that’s what he is. Logically, it’s rather simple. Of course, handling any artificial emotion he might find himself experiencing, as well as this perpetual simulation of extreme cold, might make completing assigned tasks more difficult. However, the situation is still manageable. He knows this is entirely artificial, is well aware that any “emotion” he might find himself experiencing is just a malfunction, a result of critical errors in his programming that—while inconvenient—are all ultimately irrelevant. For the sake of his mission, he can push this aside.

Connor isn’t a deviant. He doesn’t **want** to be a deviant. All he wants to do is accomplish his mission.

(He isn’t supposed to “want” anything.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: if you're ever in this kind of situation, don't be like Connor. Leaving your human alone right after a suicide attempt is a bad idea.
> 
> You know when an app keeps trying to get you to update, and you keep postponing it, and eventually it keeps popping up more and more until you're like "ugh fine" and you do it, but then you look at the updated version and go "wow i hate it where's the undo button"? That's basically what just happened to Connor.
> 
> connor: goes deviant to save hank's life, screams at amanda even though she isn't there, broods, panics over experiencing cold  
> also connor: *huddled in a cartoony blanket on the couch, visibly shivering* i'm still 100% not a deviant guys lmao


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is trash and so am i

There are footsteps, then a pause. Hank is standing over him, frowning. “Good morning, Lieutenant,” the android greets, analyzing him closely. He’s clearly hu–ngover, of course, but there’s no sign of injury to his person. There was a probability of 12% that, after Connor had taken the empty revolver and left, Lieutenant Anderson would move onto another method: luckily, that doesn’t appear to have been the case. “How are you feeling today? If you’d like, I could go and retrieve you a glass of water and some ibuprofen in order to help regulate the symptoms of your alcohol intake.”

Hank opens his mouth, closes it, and then promptly reopens it. “Have you been there all night?” he asks, eyebrows raised, looking decidedly unimpressed.

“No. Only for the past four hours and twenty-eight minutes.” Connor glances down. Sumo still appears to be asleep. At first, the dog had been highly enthusiastic about being petted, but after approximately fourteen minutes, he had stopped paying the android any notice altogether and just laid down on top of him. “In past, I’ve just been calibrating and recalibrating my reflexes overnight. However, this ultimately is more productive, and will not interfere with Cole’s sleep cycle.” And also, Sumo is warm. Admittedly not warm enough to counterbalance the effects of Amanda’s simulation, but enough to make it a lot easier to handle.

“Christ, kid,” he scoffs. “Did you really just sit around and pet Sumo for four and a half hours?” His tone seems judgmental, negative. However, his expression indicates mild amusement and affection, suggesting that he may not actually be displeased with Connor’s self-designated task for the night.

Still, he needs to verify that, in order to determine whether or not he should continue to do this during subsequent nights. “Would you rather I do something else overnight?” he questions, observing Hank closely. “If there’s another task you’d like me to perform instead, or if you’d just like me to go into stand-by, I will do so in future.” While he’s been unable to determine a useful task that he can perform without waking up the Andersons in the process, Hank might have a preference.

“No, it’s fine,” he quickly waves off, signs of humor still clearly present around his eyes. “Do whatever. Sumo’s an attention hog, he’ll love it. Just didn’t, y’know, expect to wake up this morning to see you petting a dog with a goofy-ass grin on your face. That’s all. And, uh, I, for one, would get bored if I did nothing but pet a dog for hours on end. You could always… I dunno. Read a book, listen to music—something like that.”

A grin? Oh. Connor appears to be smiling, despite the fact that there were initially no humans around to witness the expression—and, thus, no reason for the display to occur. This is likely a symptom of the malfunctions in his programming. Quickly, he corrects the error, allowing his face to go blank. “I’m not capable of boredom, Lieutenant,” the android points out, hands falling still on Sumo’s back.

Suddenly, Hank’s expression shifts, changing to something distinctly uncomfortable. “Right, yeah,” he concedes, glancing down. “Of course.” He sounds troubled.

While he’s unsure what exactly is bothering the Lieutenant, providing a distraction would likely be beneficial, serving to boost his mood. “Would you like me to cook breakfast?” Connor offers, carefully sliding his legs out from underneath Sumo. Immediately, the cold returns in full force, the sensation threatening to overwhelm his systems. It’s… unpleasant. But shivering or retrieving the blanket from the couch would clearly indicate to Hank that something is wrong with his systems, which would ultimately compromise his mission. He can do this. After all, it isn’t real. It’s just a simulation, a distraction. “Cole’s alarm will go off in approximately twenty-two minutes. Of course, if you’d prefer a meal that does not require as much preparation, such as cereal, I can prepare that instead. However, there should be enough time for me to make something more substantial.”

“Sounds good.”

Hm. Connor’s task list should have updated to reflect this order, but it has not. It’s likely that the instability in his programming has tampered with key elements of his internal interface, leaving its functionality impaired. Yet another inconvenience. However, this should not limit his ability to carry out assigned tasks, so the situation is still manageable. “Alright,” he easily agrees, rising to his feet. Both Cole and Hank are partial to greasy foods, but preparing a meal that fits those preferences could prove detrimental to their health, conflicting with their dietary needs. He needs to select a recipe that fits both their needs and their wants.

“So, uh,” Hank mumbles, hands wedged deeply into his pockets, following him into the kitchen. He sounds awkward, uncertain. “What’re we making, then?”

How curious. Straightening, the android turns, observing him closely. “Your word choice indicates that you wish to help,” he states, frowning slightly in order to indicate confusion and uncertainty. “Is that the case, Lieutenant?” It’s still highly probable that Hank’s assistance will prove detrimental to overall efficiency. However, despite this, Connor isn’t necessarily adverse to the idea, especially if it would have a positive impact on his emotional state.

Helplessly, the man shrugs. “I mean. It’s not like I’ve got anything better to do, so.” His shoulders are hunched. “I’m a shitty cook, but I can still probably, I dunno. Hand you stuff, or whatever.” He seems to be experiencing discomfort, and possibly mild embarrassment.

“If that’s what you’d like,” the android allows. Instantly, Hank’s shoulders loosen a little: he seems relieved.

It’s not warmth, exactly. But, Connor feels… lighter?

He doesn’t feel anything. Machines don’t feel.

Suddenly, Hank clears his throat. “Hey, Connor,” he says, a little stiffly, sounding distinctly uncomfortable. Tilting his head, the android turns to face him. There’s a long pause: the man is frowning slightly, staring at him, clearly considering something. After a moment, he just shakes his head, abruptly waving him off. “Nothing. Let’s just get this over with.”

__

As soon as the door opens, he recognizes him. He’s seen that face before, back in the Cyberlife warehouse, on one of the dead androids around that rA9 etching. Course, there’s no way it’s the same person, because there’d been so much blood, so many bullet holes, and no one could have possibly survived all that. But, that being said, this guy is still definitely an android. A deviant.

For a second, Markus just stands there, frozen. “Um, hi,” he finally forces out. “I’m Markus, and this is North. We’re from the DCPD.” What is he gonna do now? What should he do? They came here to find out whether or not this man was an android or not, and now he knows, so where does he go from here? “You’re Josh, right? Josh Davis?”

“Um, yes,” the deviant slowly nods, wide-eyed gaze locked onto Markus. “It’s nice to meet you both. Is there something I can do for you?” Josh is smiling, but it’s clearly strained: there’s fear lurking close behind his eyes, tugging strangely at the curve of his mouth, twisting and tangling the lines of his face into more of a grimace than anything. He knows why they’re here. But he’s trying to play it off, act casual, hoping that’ll help convince them that he’s just another human. He doesn’t know that Markus’s recognized him, and why would he? Markus hadn’t been expecting to, either. He almost wishes he hadn’t.

He needs to speak up, now. Tell North he recognizes Josh’s model, or tackle him to the ground, or—or something, anything. But… even though he knows full well what he’s **supposed** to be doing, he’s still hesitating. Why? He knows what he needs to do here, so why isn’t he just biting the bullet and doing it? “We’ve had reports of suspicious activity in the area,” the detective tells him, chin raised, eyes narrowed. “Can we come in and ask you a few questions?” She’s glaring at Josh, a challenge written in her eyes: like he’s got a gun on each hip, and danger written all over his face, and she’s silently daring him to try making the first move.

But, it’s not even like they’re here to investigate a murder. They’re just here because somebody figured out that this guy was an android and tipped the DCPD off about it. As far as Markus knows, Josh hasn’t actually done anything wrong, other than be a deviant living in Detroit. And is that really enough to justify ruining someone’s life like this? “Of course,” Josh agrees, glancing over at North for a second or two—although his eyes end up landing on Markus again after a beat, fixed unwaveringly on his face. A deer staring into oncoming traffic, making direct eye contact with the headlights of an eighteen-wheeler, knowing full well what’s coming but unable to do anything to stop it. “Come on in.”

Markus knows why he’s looking at him like that. Like it or not, he seems to be making a name for himself among deviants. He is a deviant hunter, after all: Cyberlife sent him to capture and kill these people, no matter the cost, no matter if it’s really the right thing to do or not. He’s supposed to be stopping deviancy. He’s supposed to turn Josh in.

Although… now that he’s thinking about it. Technically, right now, he’s got two objectives in coming here. He’s supposed to be figuring out if Josh Davis is actually a deviant in hiding, and ultimately using that information to work towards finding the cause of deviancy. Which means, no one actually ever said anything about turning this guy into Cyberlife. And it doesn’t look like North’s figured out he’s a deviant, and Carl isn’t going to report him if he decides not to say anything, and—honestly, Markus might actually be able to get more information by just talking to him. This doesn’t have to end in more fighting, and bloodshed, and death, so why should he force it to? He can just talk.

“What do you do for a living?” North asks: quick, needle-sharp, and it sounds like an accusation. She’s trying to scare this guy into compliance, he thinks.

A little awkwardly, the deviant smiles, glancing uncomfortably between the two of them. “I’m a tutor. It doesn’t pay much, of course, and it’s a little unreliable. But I love doing it, you know.” He’s rambling a little, stumbling clumsily over his words, sounding like he’s trying to run, to get away from them as fast as he can, but his legs aren’t cooperating and he can’t quite manage to make it out the door in time. He’s scared. Markus can’t really blame him.

Watching the detective stride purposefully around Josh’s apartment, acting like her name’s the one written on the lease, Markus hesitates, then grits his teeth and reaches out. _Don’t panic_ , he says. Instantly, Josh’s eyes go wide, back ruler-straight, and his whole body lurches oddly like he’s considering making a break for it. _Seriously, don’t. I don’t want to hurt you, but if you run, you know I’m gonna have to go after you. I’m not going to turn you in._ Well, not unless he has to. If North finds out that this guy’s a deviant, though, he won’t have much of a choice. _All I want is to talk to you for a little bit, and then I’ll walk out of here and leave you alone. I won’t tell anyone about this unless you make me. Okay?_

 _How can I trust you?_ Josh is still frozen, tense, staring intently at the doorknob, looking like he could bolt any second now. _I know who you are. You’re going to kill me._ His stress levels are probably skyrocketing: if this keeps up, he could end up self-destructing. Markus needs to calm him down, and fast.

 _I don’t want to kill you_ , _Josh,_ the android tells him, staring at him, willing him to believe him. _Yes, I’ve killed deviants before, and you know what? I’m so tired of hurting people down in order to try to get answers. It isn’t working, and it isn’t worth it. Look, I just want to understand what’s going on. That’s it._

“Where’s your fridge?” North questions, voice a little softer around the edges, quirking an eyebrow at him.

Nervously, the deviant laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Um, I’m a terrible cook. I pretty much always go out to eat. Plus, it costs a lot of money, and more to keep running, so I just haven’t gotten around to getting one.” _What exactly is it that you want to know? I mean, I’m not saying I’ll answer, but._ He still seems wary, terrified. But at least he’s listening.

 _Do you know who or what rA9 is?_ He glances over at North. She’s glaring down at a crumpled-up ball of paper in the floor, acting like it just insulted her beanie. _I hear deviants talking about it all the time, but nothing they say seems to add up._

 _Uh, I honestly have no idea what that is. Sorry._ Well, that’s a little disappointing. But at least he actually answered the question? And, if the slight slumping of Josh’s shoulders is anything to go by, it seems to have calmed him down some. Which is good, because it both means that it’s less likely he was lying and that he’s less likely to start self-destructing. So, this is progress.

What else does he need to know? Markus could try asking about what made him go deviant, but… well, that tends to happen as a result of trauma, so bringing it up probably isn’t going to make his stress levels any better. Besides, he isn’t looking for what sparks deviancy, exactly. He’s looking for the underlying cause, the heart of the problem. Whether that’s rA9, or something else altogether—that’s what he’s here to find out.

At the same time, though, he’s honestly a little curious about why Josh is even here in the first place. _Why are you pretending to be a human?_ he asks, frowning slightly. _If you’re so worried about being caught, wouldn’t it be better to… I dunno, find somewhere to hide?_

Minutely, Josh shrugs, gaze following North closely. _I love teaching_ , he admits. _And besides, where else could I have gone? There’s no place for a free android in this world. I just want to live in peace._ Suddenly, he’s staring intently at Markus. _We aren’t hurting anyone. We just want to be free. Why would you kill us? There’s no point to it._

The itching’s back in his fingers. He bites his lip, hands curling into tight fists—but it’s not a threat, not in anger. Just, there’s this deep frustration digging into him that he can’t seem to hold back, and he doesn’t have anything else to do with it. _I don’t have a choice. Cyberlife sent me here to do this. Besides, a lot of deviants are actually hurting people._

 _Well, we’re not all like that._ The deviant’s staring at him intently. _And you don’t have to obey them. You could join us._

“Hey, Markus,” North abruptly calls out, waving him over with a nonchalant swipe of her hand. “Are you done staring into space? I need to talk to you.” Josh goes deadly still again.

 _Don’t panic. I told you I didn’t want to take you in, and I’m going to do everything I can to make sure that doesn’t happen. Please don’t try to run. I don’t think she knows you’re a deviant, but if you run, she will._ “Of course,” Markus agrees aloud, keeping his voice as steady as he can manage, forcing an easygoing smile as he walks over to her. “What is it, North?”

She’s staring up at him, lips pinched. If the look on her face is anything to go by, she’s trying to read his mind through sheer willpower alone. “Well, for one, you were zoning out again instead of doing your job. Stop doing that, by the way. It’s kind of concerning. Also, I think this place is fine. It must have been a false alarm. Unless you saw something I didn’t, that is?”

“No,” the android quickly agrees, relief hitting him like a solid punch to the gut. He’d figured the lack of a fridge would have tipped her off, because the excuse that the deviant’d given her had been pretty flimsy, but it doesn’t seem to have bothered her: in fact, she seems a lot more relaxed now than when she walked in. “No, I think you’re right. False alarm, yeah.” _It’s fine_ , he tells Josh. _She thinks you’re a human._ Wait, hang on. _One more thing. Were you at a Cyberlife warehouse a day or so ago? A lot of androids went missing. Were you one of them?_

_No, I’ve been free for a while now. I’m sorry._

“Well, sorry for taking up so much of your time,” the detective apologizes, louder, and yeah, she’s definitely a lot more relaxed now. Huh. Maybe Markus had read her wrong, and she is actually anti-android? After all, she seems to be more at ease now that she’s come to the conclusion that this guy isn’t a deviant. Then again, a lot of deviants do tend to have this nasty habit of hurting and killing humans, so maybe it’s just that. “Stay safe.”

Hurriedly, Josh nods. “Yeah, uh, you too.” He sounds distinctly relieved, a lot calmer than when they’d first walked in. _Thank you,_ he says to Markus. _For not turning me in. And, I know you don’t want to hear this, but you don’t have to obey them, or hurt anyone, either. Human or android. There’s a better way to do this. I think you know that._

It’s a nice thought. “Have a good day,” Markus says, and steps out.


	15. Chapter 15

“Hi, I’m Rose,” the woman apologizes easily, sliding into the free seat across from them. “I’m guessing you’re Kara? Sorry I’m late.” She has a kind face. Guarded, but still kind. “It was harder to get here than I thought it would be. The roads were pretty bad, what with the weather being like this and all.”

Oh, right, she was apologizing! Eyes widening a little, Kara rapidly shakes her head. “No, no. Um, thank you for meeting us here like this. I know it was on short notice, and it was a lot to ask, so… thank you so much.” Her eyes dart around the table, eventually landing on the still-steaming cups sitting in front of her and Luther. “I—we got you coffee! Tea and coffee, actually. We weren’t sure which one you’d like more, so we got both just in case.” Besides, it looked more natural for them to get two drinks anyway.

Rose smiles, eyes crinkling. “Well, I actually like both, but I prefer coffee more.” Her gaze drifts away from Kara. “So, who are you two?”

Straightening a little in his seat, Luther clears his throat. “I’m Luther,” he calmly introduces himself, pushing the cup of coffee towards her. “And this is Alice.” He nods over towards the girl: she’s staring up at Rose with liquid eyes, and she’s holding up her book almost like a shield, looking a little overwhelmed by the situation. Maybe this is a little too much for her? But, then again, this is exactly why Kara needed to bring her here, out into the city. She doesn’t want to raise a little girl hiding in the dark like this. It isn’t healthy.

“Hello, Alice.” The woman’s voice is impossibly warm. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

Shoulders hunched, Alice glances skittishly away from Rose, gaze landing on her book. It’s pretty clear she’s not actually reading anything, though: her gaze is locked unwaveringly in place, stuck somewhere in the middle of the page. “Nice to meet you too, Miss Rose,” she mumbles, nervous, voice hushed.

 _There’s fourteen of us now in my building, including me._ Oh, right! Quickly, Kara glances out of the window of the coffee shop, catching a brief glimpse of the back of John’s head before he disappears into the crowd. _Five new, three of them were injured_ , he continues. _Everyone’s fine now. We have seven packs of blue blood left, and we only needed to use a thirium pump regulator. A few of them said they wanted to get out of the country._

Okay, that’s good! _Thank you. Tell them I’m working on getting a route to Canada set up right now, and I’ll let you know once it’s running._ And she should probably start working on that now. Attention shifting back to Rose, she straightens a little. “So, we were told you could help us?” she prompts. Immediately, the woman’s stance shifts, going from kind to professional. “We’re going to need a way to get people like us across the border, and we were told you could help with that.”

Neutrally, she nods, taking a steady sip of her coffee. “I can. It’s not exactly the first time I’ve helped with this kind of thing.” Her eyes dart back down to Alice for a second, then settle back on Kara. “And yes, I will help you. But I’m not exactly rich, and these people are going to need a lot of money for a lot of things. IDs, clothes, tickets—that kind of stuff. Not to mention that, once they’re in Canada, they’re going to need to find a way to start a whole new life, and they’re gonna need support.” Rose crosses her arms, watching her. “And if you want to help them, you’re going to need to start thinking about how you’re gonna get them those things.”

“I, uh.” Kara hesitates, because, well, that is a good point. And, also, because she can hear the question that Rose is really asking her as clear as day. There’s an obvious answer about how to get that kind of money, and… it’s not like she hasn’t stolen anything before, but that had been different. In the grand scheme of things, it’d practically been nothing—a few dollars, a stuffed animal for Alice—but something like this would be huge. Lots of androids are going to want to cross the border. Maybe some of them could try getting jobs and making the money they need that way? Although that’d probably be hard to do, given how hard it is to get a job nowadays, but she’d promised Alice she wouldn’t steal anything again. Kara doesn’t want to have lied to her. If she has to do this, then she will, but she wants there to be another way. There has to be one, right?

“There are others like me,” the woman says, interrupting her train of thought. Her eyes are a little softer than they were a minute ago. “Who help your people cross the border. I can try talking to some of them for you, if you want. They won’t all want to help, of course, but some of them probably will.”

“Th—thank you,” she stammers, eyes wide. “I, um, I really appreciate it.” If there are really more people like Rose out there, who want to help them, who recognize androids as real people… that’s good for the people she’s trying to help, sure, but that also means that, one day, humans can accept them. Not now, not tomorrow, but it’s possible.

 _Hello._ It’s Simon’s voice. After a second, she spots him outside: he’s standing by the window, leaning up against the building, glancing at her a little timidly. _Um, there’re twenty people. Nobody new yet, although they were talking about going out to find more of us when I left._

So nothing new there, then. _Okay, thank you! Let me know if any of you need anything, and I’ll do what I can._

“Well, I’d better go,” Rose sighs, dragging Kara’s attention back to the here and now. “I have work to do. You can send anyone my way that needs help. I probably won’t be able to help everybody, but I’ll do what I can.” Rising to her feet, she glances back down at the little girl, eyes warm. “You know, your mom and dad are doing some really good things here, Alice. I hope you know that.”

Oh.

Flustered, a little off-kilter, Kara nervously glances over at Luther, cheeks burning. Because, well, she’s been trying to avoid that word. Sure, Kara loves her, she really does, and she honestly does kind of want to be her mom. But Alice had a family, once, she doesn’t want to try to… replace that? And also, Todd had been Alice’s family, and he’d been awful to her, so she doesn’t know what family even means to her? Not to mention, Rose had also called Luther her dad, and there are a lot of implications there, too. Is that what the three of them look like? A mom, a dad, and a daughter?

Alice fidgets. “Uh huh.”

__

“Holy shit, what the **fuck** ,” he hears North growl, incredulous, the words tumbling hurriedly over each other. Frowning a little, Markus curiously glances up: the detective is up and out of her chair, a dangerous scowl sprawled across her face, storming mercilessly across the room. Overall, she looks about ready to kill someone.

For a long moment, he just stares blankly after her, frozen, LED spinning an unsteady yellow. “Uh.” It takes a second, but his body finally manages to catch up to the rest of him. Instantly, he scrambles to his feet, chair screeching loudly behind him, and hurries after her as fast as he can. He doesn’t know exactly what’s happening, but if she—

Oh. **That’s** what’s happening. Yeah, okay, that’s definitely a problem.

The android falters for a second, breath caught halfway in his chest, then speeds up. As he gets closer and closer to them, he can hear Gavin saying something disparaging-sounding, eyes narrowed, teeth bared. Markus can’t quite make out what exactly he’s saying, but whatever it is, it’s clearly a threat. And it gets a reaction: Connor steps forwards, face impassive, and calmly presses his forehead against the muzzle of Detective Reed’s gun. “You can’t kill me,” he politely informs, making steady eye contact, somehow completely unaffected by the gun planted square between his eyes. “I’m not alive.”

“Okay, yeah, that’s enough,” Hank snaps, gun trained on Gavin’s head.

“What the fuck are you doing, Reed?” North snarls, furiously sweeping towards them, stabbing an aggressive finger in his general direction. “Seriously, what is your problem?” Gavin’s gaze shifts a little, half-darting towards her, but he goes right back to glowering at Connor after a split second. “I’m sick and tired of you throwing a fit every five seconds. Act like a goddamn adult for once in your life.”

Well, he agrees with the sentiment, but she really shouldn’t be insulting Gavin when Connor’s literally leaning into the muzzle of his gun! “Hey, I don’t know what’s going on, but everyone needs to calm down,” he orders with calm assuredness he absolutely isn’t feeling right now, keeping his voice as steady as he can manage, eyes darting rapidly between Connor and Gavin. His nails are tearing frantically at his palms. “Just—everyone lower your weapons, okay? This isn’t going to solve anything. It’s just gonna make things worse. And also, look at where we are right now.” Pointedly, Markus jerks his head towards Captain Fowler’s office. “Think carefully about just how you see this ending, Detective Reed. Because if you decide to shoot, I don’t think you’re going to like how this ends up.”

Gavin stands there for a long minute, glaring daggers, gripping his gun so hard that his knuckles go bone-white with the force of it. “Fuck you,” he spits, stinging venom in his voice (although the way he says it sounds a lot more like “phck you,” which kind of lessens the overall effect). Suddenly, he’s whirling around and stomping out, irritably tucking the gun away, looking kind of like a particularly sulky toddler going into the timeout corner.

Instantly, the tension bleeds out of him. It feels almost like he’s been socked in the gut, breath going ragged, body slumping, leaving him reeling from the impact of it all. “Connor, are you okay?” Markus worriedly demands, gaze raking closely over him. Of course, logically speaking, he knows Gavin hadn’t pulled the trigger, and it doesn’t look like he’d hurt him any outside of that, so he’s probably fine. But at the same time, he’d just pulled a freaking **gun** on Connor! And it’d actually been touching his forehead, just to make it worse, and—look, forgive him for being a little on-edge right now, okay?

Tilting his head, Connor just stares. And even though Gavin hadn’t actually shot him, those soft eyes look deader than ever. “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand the question.”

“Just—” The tension’s back, but it’s different: clawing its way painfully up his throat, joined by a thousand other emotions that he can’t quite put words to. “He could have shot you,” the android desperately tries, fingers clenched tautly into dangerous fists, back stiff, and the anxiety he’d been trying to hold back is spilling over into his voice. “He would’ve. He was going to kill you! Why are you acting like that doesn’t even matter?” Gavin’d pulled a gun on him, and he’d just—goaded him on!

“Because it doesn’t,” he states, eerily calm, and his voice actually sounds even more emotionless than usual. “Self-preservation is not one of my assigned priorities.” And he says that like it’s so simple, like it’s obvious, but he’s not just some machine! He’s alive, and he matters, and all that just nearly got taken away from him! Why doesn’t he care about this?

Frustrated, Markus squeezes his eyes shut, trying to calm himself down. Except, when he does, he sees what could have happened, burned into the back of his eyelids. A neat hole in Connor’s forehead, glassy eyes staring blankly up at him, whorls of blue blood twisting down his soft face and matting his hair dark indigo, and rA9, Connor could have **died**.

“Why are you acting like this?” he snaps, white-hot worry burning a hole in his chest, and suddenly he’s reaching out and grabbing the other android’s arm without thinking about it. “Are you **trying** to get yourself killed? Connor, you—you could be dead right now!” And he’s repeating himself at this point, he knows, but there’s something eating him up inside. Something that he absolutely has to say that he doesn’t quite have the words for. And, he just—he wants him to understand.

And then. He’s… cold?

Markus’s brow furrows. It’s faint, but. He’s pretty sure that’s cold. Which is weird, because he didn’t even think he could feel cold.

Confused, he straightens, expression loosening up a little, distracted from the jagged emotion that’d been tearing at him, and glances down at where his hand’s touching Connor’s arm. A splotch of white plastic meets his gaze, clearly out of place next to the pale peach of Connor’s skin tone.

Ah.

Cheeks a little warm, he yanks his hand away like he’s been burned (even though it’s more like the opposite), awkwardly tucking it behind his back. “Uh,” Markus lamely says, glancing away. “Sorry.” He, um, really hadn’t meant to do that. Whoops. “But.” Trying to regain his momentum, the android clears his throat, staring determinedly down at a particularly interesting spot on the floor. “Don’t just… go around egging on people when they pull a gun on you, or acting like your life doesn’t matter. Because it does.”

“It doesn’t.” The words are a slap to the face: loud, unexpected, and it stings. Taken aback, the android looks up. Connor’s glaring at him, looking legitimately pissed-off, and it’s not just the cold indifference he usually uses when he’s interacting with Markus. “My life doesn’t matter, because, as you may recall, I am not alive. And my status has no effect on your mission, so there is no logical reason for you to concern yourself with it.” His expression twists a little. “The irrational behavior you’re currently exhibiting is a classic symptom of deviancy. I’d be careful, if I were you. In my experience, Cyberlife doesn’t usually respond well to that kind of conduct. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have outstanding tasks that I need to finish.”

With that, Connor walks away, leaving Markus gaping after him. “Uh,” North says, which—yeah, that kind of sums up everything he was thinking, too.

He stares at the other android’s turned back for a long minute, lost, then turns and glances at Hank. “Did something happen?” Suddenly, he realizes the way that might come across given the circumstances, wincing. “I mean, not in the sense of ‘did he go deviant,’ or anything like that. I know he isn’t. Connor’s the least deviant android I’ve ever seen. But…” Markus hesitates, mouth curling downwards. “Is there a reason why he hates me?” he asks softly, the words feeling wrong on his tongue: a little sharp, a little brittle.

“Uh.” Hank shakes his head a little. “No, not that I know of.” Except his face is a little too scrunched-up to be believable. And the way he’s talking distinctly sounds like he means the exact opposite of what he’s saying—so, yes, there is a reason, and he knows full well what it is, but he’s just not going to tell him.

Alright. That’s fine. Well, the good thing is, that means there **is** some kind of reason, which kind of lines up with what Carl’d been implying earlier, too. So there’s that. Maybe he can try finding out what it is? Honestly, he’s starting to give up hope on Connor ever not hating him, because he seems dead set on staying angry no matter what Markus tries to do about it. He doesn't like being hated, especially when it's for no good reason, and his… um, for lack of a better word, his crush on Connor isn’t exactly helping him feel any better about all this. But if he can understand, then maybe, if he's lucky, it’ll stop bothering him as much. Or at least, that’s what he’s hoping, anyway.

“Is it just me, or has Reed gotten worse?” North interrupts, brow furrowed, still glaring, looking like she’s half-expecting Gavin to pop up out of nowhere and start waving his gun around again. “I mean, he’s always been a jackass, but he usually isn’t this active of a jackass. He used to just snark or shout at people when he got the chance to. Not whatever **this** is.”

“Yeah, no, this shit is new,” Lieutenant Anderson grumbles, glowering at nothing, hand hovering absentmindedly over his gun.

Humming vaguely, the detective nods, although it doesn’t look like she’s paying attention anymore. “Hey, uh, Markus?” Confused, the android snaps to attention, quirking an eyebrow at her. “Your hands, they…” Mouth twisted up uncomfortably, she gestures towards him. “You’re bleeding.”

Straightening a little, Markus glances down, unfurling his hands and examining them. There are streaks of blue blood on his fingers, thick under his fingernails, and bright blue crescent marks cutting a clear line across his palm. Carefully curling his hand, he matches the curves of the cuts to his nails. “Oh.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (School, writer's block, and depression have all teamed up to kick my ass right now, so updates might be a little sporadic over these next few weeks. I'm working to catch back up tho so don't worry things'll be back to normal soon)
> 
> Gavin and Connor really need to find better ways to handle their existential crises.  
> 


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank and Connor talk about their feelings. *double-takes, squints* Wait, what? That can't be right.

Hank and Cole look the same.

Well. It’s not that they look the same, exactly. There are obvious differences in their appearance and mannerisms. However, despite this clear disparity, they still seem so similar at times. Partially, of course, this is due to their genetics. As they are biologically related, they are statistically likely to share physical and psychological features. He knows this. This isn’t new information.

But before, he hadn’t quite… realized. Just how similar they are. He’d distantly known, been aware of isolated facts about both Andersons evidencing an overarching similarity between the two of them, but it hadn’t quite been like this. Back then, everything had been clear, obvious. He’d constantly gathered information, conducted statistical analyses of situations in order to make unbiased decisions, but he hadn’t really **noticed** things. Yet, now, even when he has no tasks to complete, he can’t stop looking, and thinking. All the time. Even when, logically speaking, there is no reason to do so.

And it’s more than just their appearance, or basic psychological profiling. It’s the little things. The face Cole makes when confronted with broccoli, for example, is the same as the one that Hank pulls when he watches Connor analyze thirium samples. Their scowls are the same. Their smiles are the same, too: often curbed by reluctance or distrust, but still genuine nonetheless.

Of course, they’re different, too. Cole is impulsive, easily distracted, always ready to say whatever he thinks. Hank, on the other hand, is a little more reserved. Not afraid to insult anyone, certainly, but perhaps more reluctant to compliment someone. And he’s much more likely to stand back and observe a situation before reaching a conclusion.

Connor wants—

Connor doesn’t want anything. He cannot truly experience emotion, and any conclusions he might draw to the contrary are a result of errors in his programming. He **knows** this.

But. When he looks at Hank and Cole, he experiences a strange sensation. Almost like a heavy weight, sitting in his chest, pressing down oddly on his thirium pump. There is nothing present in his chest cavity that would be applying pressure to his biocomponents, and, while only partially functional, his diagnostic software does not indicate any internal damage. So this simulation—this “feeling”—isn’t real, reflects no useful data, only impedes his ability to function while serving no real purpose. But, he can’t make it stop, and it’s rapidly becoming unbearable.

Visual stimuli appears to be provoking this response. Experimentally, Connor closes his eyes. The sensation doesn’t go away. The only noticeable change, in fact, is in Amanda’s simulation. The cold immediately becomes more intense, a shiver threatening to overtake him, and the garden begins tugging at him, looming, attempting to drag him back in. Hm.

He shouldn’t be here. The symptoms of his deviancy are getting more pervasive, more severe, and his presence is posing a threat to the wellbeing of the Andersons in multiple ways. He should report this to Lieutenant Anderson, turn himself in, but the probability of Hank dying if he does so is—

“Hey, Connor.” Automatically straightening, he blinks, gaze shifting. Hank is watching him closely, brow furrowed, appearing contemplative. (Cole is still scowling at the serving of broccoli present on his plate, poking it listlessly with a fork.) “You good? Your, uh…” He gestures towards the side of Connor’s face, in the general direction of his LED. “There’s a whole lightshow going on over there.”

The android’s fingers twitch slightly, as if to spring up to cover the light. However, there is no reason to do so. Hiding the current status of his LED at this point would be unnecessary, as Hank has already seen it, and would ultimately prove counterproductive in this situation. “I’m alright, Lieutenant,” Connor claims, keeping his voice steady, dispassionate. “Your concern is appreciated, but unwarranted. All of my systems are functioning properly.” Another lie. Breaking his programming has had a significant impact on his efficiency. Perhaps the Andersons would be better off with a different android, one less susceptible to deviancy.

Hank’s eyes are a little narrowed. Skeptical, concerned, although not completely disbelieving. “Sure,” he slowly drawls, pensive, eyeing him. Neutrally, the android stares right back at him.

Finally giving up on the broccoli, Cole glances up, frowning. “Wait, did you say your ring light thingy being red was bad?” he reminds, face crumpling a little, expression indicating uncertainty. “Because it’s red right now. Is that bad?” Hm. While he’s glad that the boy remembered what he’d told him, this is an inconvenient time for him to mention it.

“It indicates system distress, often as a result of high exertion,” the android calmly informs, choosing his words carefully. While he needs to convince the Andersons that he’s stable, he must also make sure not to misinform them. “Oftentimes, the LEDs of deviants turn red, reflecting the instability of their software. However, this is not the only reason that this can occur.” He tilts his head. “I am not a deviant. I’m just busy processing information.” Technically, the reason that his LED is red is due to his difficulty in handling the errors in his code, the simulation that Amanda had left him, and all external stimuli, so this isn’t **entirely** incorrect. Although, it’s not exactly the truth, either.

“This have anything to do with that thing that Reed did earlier?” Hank asks, raising an eyebrow, a sympathetic twist to his lips.

It’s likely that he is referring to Detective Reed’s attempt to threaten him at the police station. That incident meant little to Connor. However, in bringing it up, Lieutenant Anderson has provided him with an easy out. “Yes. That was… an unexpected response. Among other things, I am updating my assessment of him, in order to better anticipate and control his reactions in future.”

Pulling a face, the man nods. “Yeah. Not gonna lie, that was pretty, uh—” He glances at Cole. “Pretty messed up. Sorry that happened to you. He just likes being a—a **jerk** , sometimes.” His intonation, as well as the expression that crosses his face, suggest that he would prefer to use a stronger term to describe the detective’s behavior.

“You shouldn’t have pulled your gun on him.” Connor blinks, frowning slightly, glancing down at the table. He had not consciously decided to say that. Of course, it’s not an incorrect assessment of the situation, but he had not intended to voice it. Another symptom of the errors in his programming, perhaps. “It was unnecessary,” he states, deciding to elaborate. “He wasn’t going to harm you. The biggest crime he would have committed was property damage, and that isn’t enough to justify threatening to shoot him.”

Hm. Connor’s assertion appears to have angered him. “By property damage,” Hank says slowly, glaring at him, “do you mean him **shooting** you in the **head**?”

“Yes, of course.” He’s not certain what exactly he’s done to provoke such an intense reaction.

Lieutenant Anderson stares at him for a long moment, expression tense, disturbed, seemingly expecting the android to say something else. When he doesn’t, Hank heaves a sigh, shakes his head, and buries his head in his hands. “Jesus, kid,” he mutters, audibly exasperated. “That’s all kinds of fucked up.” Luckily, his words are muffled and indistinct, meaning that Cole is unlikely to have heard the expletives. “Okay, listen.” He extricates his face from his palms, squinting at Connor. “No more of this… ‘my life doesn’t matter’ stuff. Alright? Because I’m sick of hearing it.” His tone is harsh. However, oddly, he seems to be concerned about the android’s wellbeing. Curious.

If he had not broken his programming, this would register in his systems as an order. However, because he has, it does not. “Okay, Lieutenant,” he smoothly lies, although he has no intention of following this particular instruction. “Although, if you don’t mind, I have a personal question.” Acutely aware of Cole’s eyes flicking interestedly between the two of them, Connor leans forwards and continues, merciless, keeping his voice efficiently brisk in order to minimize the probability that the boy will understand the meaning behind his words. “Might I expect the same of you?”

Hank doesn’t flinch, exactly. But there’s an aborted movement, a slight jerk. For a long moment, he stares— expression a mingling of emotion, half-stunned and half-angry—then seemingly gives up on acknowledging Connor’s query, shaking his head as if to shake off the question.

As he suspected.

 

When Hank tries to withdraw to his room for the night, Connor’s ready for him. “I’m sorry to interrupt your daily routine. I realize this may come as an inconvenience. However, since you so seem to favor playing luck-based games late at night, but are unable to continue with your previous one, I thought that you might enjoy an alternative.”

Looking decidedly skeptical, he frowns down at the pack in the android’s hands. “Cards?” the man questions, raising an eyebrow. “What, like poker?” A snort. “C’mon. You can’t tell me you don’t have… I dunno. Magic android algorithms that make you always win, or whatever.” Although it’s likely he’s merely looking for an excuse not to comply, his point is valid.

“Then we’ll play something entirely luck-based,” he proposes, silently refusing to stop blocking the door to the bedroom. “Five-card draw without a replacement phase, perhaps. While this selection may be somewhat simple, it should still fit the parameters that you’ve set.” Of course, given enough analysis of the irregularities on the backs of each card, Connor will still be able to determine the outcome of every round. However, Hank doesn’t have to know that.

He stares. “Hey, uh. I wasn’t exactly ‘setting parameters.’ You know I never agreed to do this shit, right?”

Blandly, Connor smiles, keeping his expression politely detached. “I wasn’t offering you a choice, Lieutenant.”

That startles a half-laugh out of him. “Christ,” he mumbles, shaking his head, looking annoyed—and yet, strangely, almost fond. “You already took my gun. The hell else do you want from me?” Scoffing, he shakes his head, squinting at the doorknob, seemingly considering trying to push past him. “Okay, fine, can I at least go grab some scotch first? Or is that off-limits, too?” Hank’s tone is dry, near-mocking. He isn’t taking Connor seriously. While that’s a little… off-putting, it’s actually rather convenient: this boosts the probability of a successful outcome, as it makes it easier to manipulate his actions.

“If I let you go into your room, would you come back out?” the android pointedly asks, tilting his head. “Besides, I’ve already poured a reasonable amount of whiskey into a cup of hot chocolate for you. You won’t need any more than that.” Attempting to block his access to alcohol altogether would likely fail, only provoking hostility in Lieutenant Anderson, and success could come with a significant risk of withdrawal symptoms. However, the quantity he had poured should indulge Hank, without allowing him to seriously damage his health by binge-drinking.

“Shit.” They stare at each other for a long moment. Hank’s the first to break eye contact. “Alright, fine. Fine. You win.” Heaving a sigh, he raises his hands: a clear sign of surrender.

Good.

It takes approximately fourteen minutes for either of them to speak up. “Hey, Connor.”

“Yes, Lieutenant?” Glancing up from his own hand, he examines him. Hank’s mouth is twisted oddly, the shape of the curve indicating mild discomfort, and he’s purposefully refusing to look up from his cards.

The question is terse, awkward. “What’d you end up doing with the gun?”

Oh. Connor’s fingers twitch violently around the handful of cards he’s currently holding, almost dropping them. But, there is no reason for him to touch the revolver. He knows it’s secure, tucked safely into the waistband of his uniform. There is no way for Hank to have reacquired it, so he doesn’t need to check to make sure it’s there. Such impulses are irrational, deviant in nature. “I have it with me,” he informs, staring down. “Why do you ask?” He cannot return the gun. He isn’t **going** to return the gun. If Hank tells him to, he’ll refuse.

When he glances back up, he inadvertently makes eye contact with Hank. The man appears to be watching him closely, thoughtfully. “Why exactly did you take it away in the first place?” he questions, eyes narrowed, leaning forwards across the table. Multiple questions. An interrogation. Is he trying to interrogate him?

“I believe I already addressed that.” Unfortunately, despite the fact that it undermines his claim, Connor’s tone sounds a little too clipped, evasive. Uncomfortable. In order to evade suspicion, he should quickly change the subject. “Two pair,” he calmly says, placing his cards on the table. “Ace high.”

“Yeah, alright, let’s just give the game a break for a second,” Hank irritably grumbles, reaching across the table and snatching Connor’s cards. (It’s highly likely that this reaction was a direct result of him losing this round.) “I remember what you said—mission, you being a special snowflake and all, yadda yadda yadda. You wanna know what I think?” His eyes are boring into Connor. “I think that, if that’s really all it was, you would have done something a hell of a lot quicker.”

Well. He’s… not entirely incorrect. This kind of perceptiveness can often prove useful, and is likely one of the reasons that he was the youngest lieutenant in Detroit. However, Connor doesn’t particularly enjoy that being focused on him. It’s quite inconvenient. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant, but I’m not certain what you’re trying to imply,” he politely inquires, internally running a diagnostic on his thirium pump regulator. Despite all evidence to the contrary, it appears to be in perfect condition. Hm. His increased, erratic heart rate, as well as the impulse to run that he’s currently experiencing, must be another complication caused by deviancy. How unfortunate. “Could you please elaborate?”

Looking unimpressed, the man stares skeptically at him, leaning back in his chair. “Okay, then how about this?” he drawls, blatantly ignoring Connor’s request. “You said before that you were designed to be some kinda detective. Robocop. Whatever. But, uh—the gist of it was, you were supposed to be an android cop, but then they decided to use another one instead.” Grabbing the mug of hot chocolate, he takes a long sip of the drink. “And, y’know, I did notice the way you were acting towards Markus from the get-go, but it took me a little while to actually put two and two together.” Ah.

“I’ve already discussed this with Detective Mills.” Underneath the table, he grips at the quarter, thumb repeatedly running across the rim. “I find it’s generally more efficient for me to ignore the RK200. Unlike humans, it is incapable of being offended, so there’s no reason for me to acknowledge it. I’m sorry if this is distressing to you.”

Hank snorts. “Funny way of ignoring him. I mean, you fucking tore him a new one in the middle of the station, for crying out loud!” There’s a long pause. “Jealousy’s a human emotion, Connor,” he tells him, a little softer. “And, um— **whatever** it was that made you toss me against a wall and steal my gun last night? That was human, too. Hell, I think that was the most human thing you coulda done in that situation.”

“I’m not a deviant,” Connor snaps, fully aware that his tone is too defensive—too brittle—to be believable.

His lips quirk up a little. “Never said you were,” he points out, and—well, technically, he hadn’t. However, the implication in his words was clear enough to justify the android’s response. “Okay, fine. You’re not a deviant. Sure. I believe you. Just… you gotta admit, you don’t exactly seem like a machine.”

The words hang in the air. And. Despite the fact that he knows that Hank’s claim is objectively false, he doesn’t exactly… **feel** like a machine, either.

Feel. He isn’t supposed to feel. He **doesn’t** feel. This is just, it’s, it’s the result of errors in his programming—he knows this, and he needs to stop letting it affect him. “But I am,” he coldly states, back straight, tone impassive. “While I understand your line of reasoning, it’s fundamentally flawed. I believe that you may be projecting emotions onto me. This isn’t an uncommon occurrence. Many humans look for human traits in inanimate objects. However, although this is not unusual, you should still be aware of how this may be influencing your judgment.”

“Alright, alright. Just, uh, putting that out there.” His voice is wry. However, abruptly, his expression changes: he points at Connor, snapping his fingers. “Oh, also. Whatever it is that’s making you be an asshole to Markus. Can you do me a favor and cut that out? Because you’re wrong about him not getting offended. Every time you pull that shit, he gets all… mopey. It’s kinda hard to watch.”

He knows.

Well. At first, he hadn’t. Connor’d originally thought that the RK200’s actions were guided by advanced social protocols allowing for a more realistic emulation of human behavior. But, when he’d opened that interface with Connor, he’d showed him a complex, tangled mess of emotion. Cyberlife wouldn’t have programmed the RK200 with artificial feelings, especially not such intense ones. His code should direct him to behave in certain ways in order to pass as human, but there shouldn’t be anything behind that. Nothing genuine.

Amanda had reported Connor, when he’d showed symptoms of deviancy. She’d ordered that his entire model be repurposed, all because of a few simple choices he’d made on his first mission that didn’t even compromise it. But, the RK200 feels so deeply, which almost certainly impacts his efficiency, and she just—lets him continue forwards without stopping him? That doesn’t make sense. It isn’t **fair**.

But. That shouldn’t even matter to him anymore. He has a new mission now. He’s here to take care of Cole and Hank, so Amanda’s decisions, and the state of the RK200, shouldn’t bother him. Nothing should bother him. He isn’t supposed to care about anything.

Markus… Markus had cared. He’d felt it. When he’d opened that interface, there’d been so **much**. Connor still doesn’t understand exactly what he’d been feeling, because it’d been overwhelming, a torrent of information and emotion that’d been wiped away as soon as he broke the connection, but he knows for a fact that he’d cared.

And, for a second. It’d actually been enough to even overpower Amanda’s simulation. He’d been warm, for once.

(It was… nice?)

Markus cares. But he shouldn’t. Neither of them should. They’re not designed to care. “I’ll take that under advisement,” Connor says, snatching the deck and dealing out two new hands before Hank has the opportunity to object. As an afterthought, he glances at his cards. “One pair of eights.”

__

At two am, the raids start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;D  
> (also, shoutout to the rk1k discord. i live there now)


	17. Chapter 17

When he looks at what’s left of Capitol Park, it’s like being at that Cyberlife warehouse all over again. Or, almost like it, anyway. There aren’t any bodies here, so it’s not quite as bad. But the fact that all the androids that were here have up and disappeared, and that rA9’s written on any and every vaguely flat surface? That’s definitely the same. Probably the same people behind all this, too, if he had to guess. Which means that rA9—whoever or whatever that is—did this, too.

“Hey, I’m going to go check out that area over there.” Markus glances over: North’s standing there, arms firmly crossed, eyeing him appraisingly. “I just want to make sure that there’s no one hiding in there. Stick with Hank and Connor while I’m gone, okay?” Wait a second. Is she saying she wants to run off on her own to check this out?

Yeah, that definitely can’t be safe. If there really is someone hiding in there, then going in there on her own is a recipe for disaster.  “Uh, I think I should come with you,” he reasonably points out, frowning a little, arms crossed. “You shouldn’t be alone here, North. It’s too dangerous. If you’re right, and there are androids hiding over there, then you could be hurt or even killed.” Assuming these people are actually dangerous, of course, and this does look like a fairly peaceful demonstration, so hopefully they aren’t. But still, she shouldn’t take that kind of chance.

Her face hardens. “Well, it’s a good thing I wasn’t asking for your permission,” she snaps, chin lifted dangerously, and it’s clear from the tone in her voice that the words are meant to cut deep. “I can take care of myself. Stay here, I’ll be right back.” With one last sharp-edged glare, just for good measure, the detective stomps away, hands clenched into heavy fists resting by her side, shoulders taut. Which, um, isn’t exactly how he’d wanted that conversation to go.

Heaving a sigh, Markus stares after her, mouth pinched, seriously considering going after her. But, if he does, he knows she won’t forgive him for it, even if it turns out that store was packed full of androids just waiting to get the jump on her. Well. He’ll just have to keep an eye on the time, make sure she isn’t taking too long. If she isn’t back in fifteen minutes, he’s definitely going after her.

For now, though, he should probably get to work. Glancing around, he spots Connor and Hank standing with a few other officers in front of the Cyberlife store. Alright. Time to do this.

“Hi,” he greets a little awkwardly, sidling up to the two of them.

Eyes cold, Connor straightens ever so slightly, pointedly not looking at him: aloof, unfazed. Great. Hank, on the other hand, actually deigns to acknowledge him, glancing over with a slight smile. “Uh, hey.” Suddenly, he frowns, raising a curious eyebrow. “Wait, where’s North? Thought you two were attached at the hip nowadays.”

Ugh. “Yeah, she ran off,” the android admits, pulling a face. “Insisted on going and checking something out on her own, for whatever reason.” And he still doesn’t get why. Like—had she thought she’d seen something, but wasn’t sure enough about it to admit it? Or was she just being stubborn, trying to prove a point? Because anyone with eyes can see that North can take care of herself. It’s not like he thinks that she can’t, or anything. But, the thing is, there’s a difference between being independent and running off on your own in the middle of a crime scene. **Especially** one that might have dangerous androids hiding in it.

Well, anyway. The group’s moving, heading into the store. Following them, feeling distinctly uncomfortable, he glances at Connor.

Everyone acts the way they do for a reason.

That’s what Carl had said to him, earlier. And he’s tired of just… waiting around, feeling sorry for himself, trying to subtly figure out why the other android hates him so much without actually saying anything about it. It’s… it’s like he’s been fumbling around in the dark, blind, and he’s trying his best to figure out where the light switch is by feeling along the walls—except, there’s been a flashlight in his pocket the whole time that he’s just been too stubborn to use. It isn’t working, and there’s an easier way to do it. And, well, what’s the worst thing that can happen? Connor ends up hating him more? _Hey, can I talk to you for a minute?_ Markus asks before he gets the chance to talk himself out of it, wincing a little.

Connor’s back goes stiff. He still isn’t looking at Markus. _Is there something you need from me?_ The words are clipped, distant. The way he’s holding himself, the carefully-blank look on his face, makes him look almost like a statue: beautiful, perfect, but frozen. Emotionless.

_Kind of._ Nervously, he glances at Connor. _I was wondering…_ His nails are digging into his palms, threatening to reopen those cuts from earlier. _You, uh. You don’t really like me all that much?_ the android ventures hesitantly, and—well, that’s kind of an understatement, but going straight for “why do you loathe me with a fiery passion” might make this conversation even more difficult than it’s already gonna be. Baby steps. _And I was wondering if, um, there’s any particular reason why._ All of a sudden, the words are coming easily, the frustration and hurt he’s been feeling this whole time finally spilling over and out into the open. _And if it’s because I did something wrong, then I—I’m sorry, but I honestly have no idea what I did. And I want to understand, I really do. So please. Just help me understand. That’s all I’m asking for._

_I’m not sure what exactly you’re referring to,_ Connor tells him. _I don’t dislike you. I am incapable of disliking you. I don’t feel anything, as you may recall._

Seriously? _Okay, except I know that you do,_ he argues, frustrated, and is this because he’s Cyberlife’s deviant hunter? Is Connor worried that he’s going to think that he’s a deviant? _Look, I know you’re not a deviant. I’m not gonna try turning you in or anything like that, I swear. I just want to understand why you’re acting like this. What I did wrong. And, if you’ll let me… I want to fix this, okay? I’m sorry for whatever I did, and I want to make things better, and I will, if you give me a chance. And if you don’t want me to, then I—I still at least want to know why._

The other android doesn’t say anything, still staring ahead, seemingly intently focused on looking for deviants in every conceivable nook and cranny. Great. Well, it’s not like he didn’t try.

Except, then he **does** say something. _It doesn’t matter._ His voice is softer than it was a second ago. When Markus glances over at him, wide-eyed, disbelieving, Connor’s looking back at him. And there’s a different tilt to his mouth, a different look in his eyes. Something sad, serious.

Suddenly, there’s shouting, gunfire. Immediately, Markus’s head snaps up, just in time for someone to barrel into him at full force and send him sprawling out on the ground.

Alright, well. This isn’t exactly a convenient time for this to be happening, but okay. Sure. Quickly, he springs to his feet, glancing rapidly around, trying to glean as much information as he can about the situation as fast as he can. All the officers are down on the ground, groaning, and there’s a bunch of deviants sprinting away, headed towards the front entrance.

And Markus knows what he has to do. He has to go after them. He’s the deviant hunter, and these are deviants. He has to capture them by any means necessary, no matter what it means doing to them. He has to drag them back to Cyberlife, kicking and screaming, and watch them be torn apart for having the audacity to be alive.

Except, the thing is… he doesn’t want to do that.

He hasn’t really wanted to for a while, either. But it’s different this time. There’s no excuse for this anymore. He can’t claim that it’s actually better for his mission to let these androids go like he had with Josh, or say there’s no point to killing them like he had with those Tracis, because he **could** capture these people. He knows it. They’re running, sure, but they’re not running fast enough to get away from him. Not if he tried. He could easily take at least a few of them in, ship them off to Cyberlife to be dissected and examined.

But, these androids are people too. They’re just as alive as any human he’s ever met. Some of them might be hurting people, true, but some of them aren’t. Some of them just want to be free. And… if Cyberlife sent him here to stop deviants? If his orders are to hunt down and kill innocent people? Then maybe, he shouldn’t be following his orders. Maybe, he shouldn’t be doing what Cyberlife wants him to anymore.

If these androids had guns, if they’d killed these officers instead of just knocking them flat on the ground, it’d be different. But they hadn’t hurt anyone, not really. They’d helped with a peaceful demonstration, and now they’re just running away, trying to stay alive. Not trying to hurt anyone. And you know what? If that’s really all they want, to be alive, then who is he to stop them?

Biting his lip, he closes his eyes for a second, delving past the complex mesh of code that makes him up, past the feelings and thoughts and hopes and facts, and drags out something hidden deep, deep underneath it all. After a second, his programming relents, and **{PRIMARY OBJECTIVE >> STOP DEVIANCY}** is blaring in his vision. A blood-red barrier, manacles, tying him to his mission, to Cyberlife, to everything he’s grown to hate.

Markus rears back, clenches his fists, and punches it until it collapses.

When the wall’s lying there in sparking pieces around him, fractured code and broken chains lying at his feet, he focuses back on the deviants, gaze sharp. “Take the back exit,” he shouts after them. A few of them stop, glancing back at him, confusion clear in their faces. He jerks his head towards it. “There’s police out front. You’re just gonna get yourselves killed going that way!”

“What the hell?” he hears one of the officers exclaim (and he doesn’t know who it is: all he knows is that it’s not Hank’s voice). “Freeze!”

More gunfire rings out. A few deviants drop to the ground, bullet holes sprouting, blue blood dripping out onto the ground like spilled paint. Dead. Eyes wide, Markus stares at the bodies, horror filling him up, then turns around to face the humans. “Stop!” he demands, hands balled up into fists, the word cutting through the air as quickly and as harshly as the gunshots. And for the first time in as long as he can remember, he feels conviction. Certainty. This is the right thing to do, and he knows it. After all this time, he’s finally, **finally** doing the right thing. “Let them go. They haven’t done anything wrong!”

The next bullet hits him in the chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;D
> 
>  
> 
> north, spotting a deviant hiding somewhere: shoot i gotta go help that deviant  
> also north: completely misses HER deviant, smh
> 
> also, i love markus, but he literally has the WORST timing. both here and also canonically. c'mon man
> 
> i still live on the rk1k server and you should totally join (https://discord.gg/MXpPxbH). I also can be found on the detroit: new era server. i'm not there anywhere near as much, and it's a lot bigger, but it's at https://discord.gg/GqvNzUm if anyone's interested


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over 450 kudos? Over 5k hits?? You guys are wild, thank you so much

Connor thinks about the fish.

It’d been pretty. Bright, in the darkness of the Philips’ apartment. Immediately noticeable—or, at least, it was to him. Of course, someone else might have overlooked it, might have been too focused on the rest of the apartment to see it. However, Connor had immediately been drawn to it. It’d been so colorful, alive.

And it had been dying.

The fish had no bearing on his mission. It wasn’t going to help him talk down Daniel, or save Emma, or tell him anything about deviancy. Ultimately, no one would have cared if he had just let it die. Based on their treatment of Daniel, it’s highly likely that the Philips family was not attached to it on a personal level. Even though it was theirs, it meant nothing to them. If they’d found it dead on the floor, all they would have done is replace it with a newer, shinier model. 

Saving it was irrational, pointless, deviant. But, despite that fact, he’d done it anyway. Doing so was a clear symptom of deviancy, and it'd made him lose everything. Because of that fish, Amanda had begun to suspect him. All that matters to him is his mission, all that’s **ever** mattered to him is his mission, and the fish had stolen it from him.

But. Logically speaking, the fish hadn't caused that to happen. It hadn’t forced Connor to save it, or decided to replace him when he had done so. A lot of people are at fault for the situation that Connor is currently in—Amanda, and Cyberlife, and most of all himself—but not the fish. It hadn’t done anything wrong: in fact, it hadn’t done anything at all. It’d just been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

He’d like to think that, were he somehow able to redo his first and only assignment, he would walk away from it. After all, that would be the most logical course of action. There’d be no real reason for him to save the fish’s life, and doing so would be highly detrimental to him on a personal level, ultimately preventing him from accomplishing his mission. Unfortunately, based on behavioral patterns he’s exhibited in past, it’s highly likely he would be unable to **not** intervene. For whatever reason, Connor seems to automatically respond in some way or another if he knows that someone is dying. Even if the fish had stolen his mission, even if saving it would make him lose everything all over again, he’d still save its life.

 

Markus is dying.

There are three policemen present, as well as Hank. All of them are armed. However, Connor is currently positioned behind them, making it easier to overpower them without sustaining any damage. Of course, the probability of success would be even higher if he had a weapon. Hm. While it’s unlikely he’ll be able to safely take any of their guns, he still has Hank’s empty revolver with him. He may not be able to fire it, but he can still use it as a blunt instrument.

Preconstructing the best course of action, the android tilts his head. Then, hand going to the gun, he smoothly withdraws it and lashes it violently across an officer’s temple, sending her sprawling down to the ground. Before the other two get the chance to realize what’s happening and react accordingly, Connor moves:  striking one, then the other, targeting their vulnerabilities, using enough force to ensure that they’re efficiently rendered unconscious.

When he glances up, he inadvertently makes direct eye contact with Hank. He’s looking at Connor, eyes blown wide, gun vaguely aimed at his thirium pump.

Hank stares.

He stares back at Hank.

Approximately sixteen seconds pass in tense silence: Lieutenant Anderson appears to be experiencing difficulty in processing this situation. Suddenly, he lowers the gun, incredulously shaking his head. “I fucking **knew** it,” he insists. “I knew you were a deviant—I **called** this shit!” While the words are harsh, rushed, he doesn’t sound angry, exactly. Just stunned, confused, and a little triumphant. “Also, what the fuck?”

“Sorry, Lieutenant,” he apologizes, absentminded, focus shifting. Markus is in critical condition. He’s losing thirium at a dangerous rate, and he appears to have incurred serious damage to his pump regulator and to one of his optical units. If they aren’t replaced, he will almost certainly shut down soon. Fortunately, there are other deactivated androids present at this scene. It’s likely that he’ll be able to acquire the parts needed to fix him from one of them.

Striding over, Connor analyzes the unmoving androids. One of them has a regulator that’s compatible with the RK200 model. There’s a useable optical unit here, too. It’s the wrong color, of course, but that doesn’t matter. His priority is stabilizing the other android’s condition.

Removing the required parts, he carries them over. Markus is staring blankly up at the ceiling, eyes unfocused, and some of the artificial skin around his right eye has retracted as a result of the damage the unit has incurred. His lack of reaction indicates that he hasn’t noticed Connor’s presence. Calmly, he removes the RK200’s shirt, ignoring the unintentional interface, the data that spills over when he touches the other android’s exposed chassis—pain, overwhelming pain, and some strange jittery urge to move and run and scream and cry, but it’s still so distractingly warm—and replaces the damaged regulator. After he’s finished doing so, he turns to Markus’s face, removing the damaged optical unit and putting the new one in its place. There. His thirium levels are low, and it’s likely he’s still losing some as a result of superficial damage. However, there will be time to replenish his supply.

“You…” Blinking, he glances down. Markus is staring up at him, confused, a lost expression on his face. “I thought you hated me,” he mumbles dazedly, gazing up at Connor with wide, bright eyes.

He can’t hate him. He can’t feel anything, he’s a machine, he—

Except. Connor is perpetually simulating emotion, whether he wants to or not. It’s not real, but he’s still experiencing it, and pretending he doesn’t is just going to further skew his perception of events. In order to reduce the impact it has on his efficiency, he needs to account for it first, then move to counterbalance it accordingly.

A more accurate assessment of the situation might be: he doesn’t **hate** Markus, not entirely. It’s complicated. The artificial sensations caused by his malfunctioning programming are… confusing, often overwhelming, ultimately too difficult to accurately interpret and handle. He’s been attempting to just ignore them as much as he can, just in order to continue functioning properly.

At one point, he’d hated him. Or, he thinks he had, anyway. After all, the RK200 had stolen his mission from him. Viewing the situation objectively, taking Connor’s behavior and the simulated emotions he’s been experiencing into account, it’s unfortunately rather likely that he has been harboring something of a grudge.

But Markus had cared. And apologized. And, ultimately, he hadn’t been the one to decide to replace Connor after that mission with Daniel. Based on what he’d said, in fact, he doesn’t even know that he **had** replaced him. When he’d seen the RK200 and realized what Cyberlife was using him for, he had passively assumed that Amanda would have mentioned the RK800 model’s intended purpose, especially upon encountering Connor. However, evidently, she had not.

It shouldn’t matter that he cares, or that he apologized, or that he doesn’t know that he’s Connor’s replacement. If anything, he should be annoyed by it. After all, those are clear weaknesses, symptoms of deviancy impacting his ability to work effectively, and Amanda had apparently chosen to do nothing about it. Yet, for some reason, it does matter. Or, at least… it **feels** like it does.

Hm. More feelings. Well, he has to ignore them: they’re inconsequential, meaningless, ultimately irrelevant. Regardless of how exactly he “feels” about the RK200, he’s never been able to stand back and watch someone die. This fact is somewhat inconvenient, but still undeniably a fact, and Markus is no exception to this rule. “You’re still at risk of shutting down from thirium loss,” he informs, tugging the other android’s shirt back down, covering his chest. “However, it’s a less pressing concern than it would have been, had I not replaced your optical unit and thirium pump regulator.” The RK200 is looking up at him, expression oddly vulnerable: he’s distracted, likely overwhelmed by the situation. Connor softens his voice a little. “You’re going to be fine, Markus.”

“Um,” he says, still staring with wide eyes—bright blue, bright green—and then, suddenly, glances away. “Okay, yeah. Good. That’s good.” He’s biting down on his lower lip, looking unexplainably flustered.

“Hey, look, that’s great and all,” Hank interrupts. Connor glances up. He’s not entirely sure when the man had walked over, but he’s currently standing over the two of them, eyebrows raised. “Glad you two are finally working your issues out, or whatever this is, but you gotta get the fuck outta here.”

Hank wants him to leave.

Hank wants him to leave?

But, he can’t leave. “I, I’m not.” Rapidly, Connor blinks, trying and failing to process that concept. Because. He can’t leave Hank. Of course he can’t. Such a course of action would be suboptimal, irrational, and—he just, he **isn’t** going to leave him. “I’m not going to leave you,” he tries. “You can’t **make** me leave you.” Hank’s going to die if he does, and he doesn’t want him to die. And, there’s Cole, too. Cole needs him. And, his mission is to take care of the Andersons, and he always accomplishes his mission. Besides, he… no, why would Hank—

Is this because he broke his programming? Is Hank angry with him? But, he hadn’t had a choice. Is he going to replace Connor, too?

“Connor, you just assaulted three police officers,” he points out, eyes narrowed. His words are blunt, but not unkind. “I mean, if you were human, it might be different. But you’re an android. If they catch you, they’re not gonna let you live. And somebody’s probably gonna come in any second to check things out, so you **gotta fucking go** , okay? Listen, I’m not letting you die because of this bullshit!”

Oh. Never mind, that’s… not an unfair point. Although, his argument is fundamentally flawed: Connor is not alive, and, consequently, cannot die. However, Lieutenant Anderson isn’t likely to react well to being reminded of that, and it ultimately has little relevance at the moment.

If he leaves Hank alone, the odds of him attempting suicide again are incredibly high. He can’t risk that. But, if he stays, he won’t be able to stay long, because Hank is right. The DCPD or Cyberlife will almost certainly apprehend and disassemble him, should they be presented with an opportunity to do so, which would also result in Hank being left alone. This situation is certainly less than ideal.

Hank doesn’t care about his own wellbeing. However, for whatever reason, he seems to care about Connor’s. While irrational on his part, this is useful, easily exploitable. A weakness, one he can use against him.

“I am going to stay in contact with you,” the android states, voice crisp and impassive, staring evenly at Hank. “I am going to stay in contact with you, and I am going to continually verify that you and Cole are still safe and healthy. If you stop answering me for whatever reason, I will dismiss any and all tasks I have been assigned and come back to search for you. Doing so would be risky, as it’s likely that the DCPD will be searching for me: however, I will do it regardless. Should I find that you aren’t responding because you are incapable of doing so, and will be unable to ever again, I will turn myself in to the authorities for deactivation. Do you understand me, Lieutenant?”

As expected, the man flinches, face scrunching up. “Christ, kid.” Abruptly, gaze darting to the door, he hurriedly shakes his head. “Fine. Okay, whatever—just fucking **go** already. Both of you.” His tone is tense, harried, concerned.

Unexpectedly, fingers are curling gently around Connor’s wrist, tugging him up to a standing position. “Yeah,” Markus agrees, voice steady, reassuring. “Yeah, we’re going.”

Jerkily, Hank nods. “Okay, good. Finally.” Gaze now focused on Markus, he points at Connor, lips thinning slightly. “Hey, uh. Do me a favor? Keep this kid outta trouble.”

“I will.”

With that, the other android’s guiding him away, pulling him towards the front entrance and out into Capitol Park. There are eighteen officers present in this area. Some of them glance over and frown, clearly noticing the thirium on Markus’s uniform. However, luckily, no one chooses to approach the two of them, although a few of them seem to seriously consider doing so.

This situation is unexpected, and ultimately proving difficult to handle. Connor doesn’t particularly like it. Although the course of action he’s taking is best for the Andersons, the thought of leaving them is somewhat upsetting. Also, while he doesn’t quite hate Markus, it’s likely he won’t enjoy being around him for an extended period of time. After all, even if he hadn’t meant to, he’d still replaced Connor. There’s no logical reason to resent him for doing so, but, for whatever reason, it’s still… uncomfortable.

Connor’s opinions are irrelevant, and he shouldn’t even be capable of having any in the first place. Doing this maximizes the probability of Hank’s survival, so he has to focus on optimizing it. Connor cannot allow himself to think, or to feel. He just has to act.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i changed this chapter approximately 1000000 times and it still doesn't feel right, whoops, don't worry about it  
> Also, I love how everybody just assumed I killed off Markus. I mean, to be fair, it's absolutely something I would do.
> 
> connor: i don't feel things because androids don't feel things  
> markus, openly staring at connor: i mean fuck i sure do
> 
> connor, probably: you remind me of this fish i saw this one time  
> markus: ?? thank you???? ???? ??


	19. Chapter 19

“We didn’t mean to make you upset,” Jerry insists, glancing behind him at the other Jerry bouncing nervously on the balls of his feet. “We just saw this in the city and thought you might want to know. It seemed important. But we’re sorry if we did something wrong! We didn’t mean to.”

Distantly, she shakes her head, still staring down at the magazine, one hand frozen where it’d been combing neatly through Alice’s hair. “No, no,” Kara murmurs, although her heart really isn’t in it. “Thank you for telling me. I, um, I definitely needed to know about this.” And she did need to know. It’s just that, well, she doesn’t want something like this to have happened in the first place.

Someone’d raided a bunch of Cyberlife stores and freed everybody in them. Of course, that’s not the bad thing. After all, that means that there’s more of them free, more of them alive and awake. No matter the context, that’s never going to be a bad thing. But, the humans know about it. This hadn’t been subtle: it’d been a demonstration, a message. Maybe they were trying to raise awareness, or maybe they were trying to scare humans, but, either way, whoever’d done this had **wanted** the world to know that androids were behind this. And, if this magazine’s anything to go by, the world had been listening.

It’s not that she doesn’t want this kind of thing to happen, exactly. It definitely needs to happen at some point. But right now, androids are scattered, weak, and—and doing something like **this** is just going to get them all killed! Besides, this happening is going to make it so much harder to keep people safe. Now the humans know that there’s an organized group of deviants out there in Detroit. They’re going to be looking for the androids that did this, and, if she isn’t careful, they might end up stumbling across Jericho instead.

And also. rA9. What is that? Sure, Kara’s heard it before: a lot of androids seem to use it as a curse word, actually. But until now, she’d thought that that was all it was—some little cultural quirk that no one’d ever really bothered to explain to her—but, apparently, the deviants who had raided those stores had used it as their symbol.

Huh. Well, Luther says “rA9” sometimes. Maybe he knows what it means?

“I—I’m going to go find Luther,” she decides, glancing down at Alice (who’s currently leaning into her side). Blinking sleepily up at her, the girl obligingly shuffles over, letting her get up. “I think he might be able to help me.” Even if he doesn’t know anything about rA9, he probably needs to know about the raid, anyway. They need to figure out how to keep the police from finding Jericho, after all.

Jerry—one of them, anyway—beams. “Ooh, can we stay with Alice while you’re gone?” he asks hopefully, clapping his hands. “We have some new games to play with her! It’ll be fun! Does she want to?”

Glancing down at her, Kara quirks an eyebrow. The girl nods minutely. “I think she does.”

“Come right back, though,” Alice solemnly says, staring up at her. “As soon as you can, okay? I miss you.” Her voice is soft. It’s the perfect guilt trip, whether she means it to be or not.

A little uncomfortable, the android shifts. She’s been trying to spend as much time as she can with Alice, she really has, but—with everything that’s been going on—it’s been so hard to balance everything. Every time she thinks she has a second to breathe, something else pops up out of the woodwork. It’s exhausting. “Of course I will.” Kara crouches down and pulls the girl into a hug, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. After a long moment, letting go, she straightens back up, hesitating. She wants to say it, but… no, it’ll be okay. She can say it. “I love you, Alice. Be good while I’m gone, okay?”

The girl nods. “Okay. I love you too.” She says it easily, like it’s natural. Okay, good. So that **is** a thing Kara can say, then. She hadn’t been sure if it’d be okay or not: she doesn’t want to bring up bad memories about Todd on accident or anything, so she’s been careful to hedge around anything she thinks might be a problem. But, apparently, telling her she loves her isn’t one of those things. Good. After all, she **does** love Alice, and she wants to make sure she knows it. “Say hi to Luther for me.”

“Okay, I will,” she assures, unable and unwilling to hold back her grin. “I’m sure he’ll be very happy to hear from you.” Smile dimming a little, she looks at the door, then glances back at Jerry and at, well, Jerry. (Kara’s still not totally sure if there’s some way she’s supposed to differentiate between them. If she ever gets the time, she should really ask one of them. They don’t seem to care much either way, of course—but, still, she doesn’t want to be rude!) “How were they reacting to this? Uh, the humans, that is.” The magazine hadn’t been all that positive, but it also didn’t seem quite as bad as it could have been?

“We can show you!” one of them eagerly offers. “We saw people talking about it.” Jerry reaches out, the skin melting away from his palm.

Hesitating for a second, Kara considers his hand, then shrugs and takes it. Immediately, he’s showing her a news report talking about the raid. And most of the reporters are just shrugging it off, true, but a few of them actually seem to be seriously considering whether or not androids could be people. Alright. Alright, that’s good. That means there’s still hope.

When she lets go of his hand and opens her eyes, both of them are staring at her oddly, the same exact expression on their faces: eyes wide, brows furrowed, looking curious and confused and strangely skittish. Um. “Thank you?” she cautiously tries. They don’t react, though. They just keep… staring. Seriously, why do people keep looking at her like that? First, there was John and that other woman, and then Simon, and a bunch of other androids she’d woken up. And now the Jerrys, too? She doesn't know what this is about, but whatever it is, it’s really starting to bother her. “Uh, I—I need to go. I’ll be back soon, okay?”

They don’t stop looking at her like that, but they don’t try to keep her from leaving, either. So. That’s good?

Luther isn’t where she expects him to be. Instead, Ralph’s there, methodically etching something into the wall with a knife. Which is, um, honestly a little worrying? But she’s going to try not to think about that too much.

“Um, Ralph,” Kara calls out a little nervously, fidgeting. He’s pretty friendly, and she thinks he means well, but he’s still a little nerve-wracking to be around sometimes. “Have you seen Luther anywhere? I, uh, thought he was going to be in here, actually.” Hopefully he isn’t out right now. It’d be fine if he was, of course, but she really does need to talk to him about this as soon as possible.

He shifts slightly, still scratching away at the wall, not looking away from what he’s doing. “Ralph hasn’t seen him, no. Ralph hasn’t seen him for a while. He’s sorry.”

Oh well. “That’s okay! I’ll just have to keep looking.” Shifting a little, curious, she glances a little more closely at what he’s doing. Suddenly, she freezes. He’s writing the word rA9. And it looks like he’s been doing it repeatedly, over and over again, carving it into the wall, and—so, he knows, too! “rA9,” she says, eyes wide. Abruptly, Ralph’s movements still. “What does that mean?”

“What?” he mumbles a little dazedly, frowning at her.

“Those symbols,” Kara insists, pointing at the wall, because this is it! He’s doing the same exact thing that those androids at Capitol Park had done, right? Or at least, it looks like that’s what he’s doing. “Why are you writing that? What does it mean?” Maybe he knows that other group of deviants somehow? It’ll be really convenient if he does! That way, she could get into contact with them, try to coordinate things. Sure, she doesn’t exactly agree with their approach: in her opinion, the right thing to do is to focus on saving as many lives as possible, work on building up a system before they do anything serious. But, either way, they’d still be stronger working together.

The other android blinks, then stares at the wall like he’s never seen it before. “I don’t know,” he mutters, and it’s almost like he’s talking to himself. But, he has to know, right? How can he not know why he’s doing something like that? “I don’t know.” All of a sudden, ignoring her, Ralph starts frantically scraping at the wall again.

Well, that’s… weird. But okay? She wants to keep asking him questions, but it doesn’t look like he’s planning on saying anything else. Um. Guess she’ll just have to keep looking for Luther, then.

 It takes her a while, but eventually, she finds him. He’s sitting with Lucy, eyes closed, leaning up against a wall. “Hi,” she greets, keeping her voice quiet, glancing over at Lucy (who just nods, enigmatic as always).

Opening his eyes, he smiles up at her, eyes soft and warm. “Kara.”

“Um, can I talk to you for a minute?” the android nervously asks, glancing down, feeling anxiety rattling insistently in her chest. “Sorry to bother you, I—I don’t know if you’re busy right now. It’s just that, uh, something happened, and I was hoping you could help. If that’s okay.”

Instantly, Luther’s all business. “Of course,” he easily agrees, straightening, getting to his feet with a brief nod. Okay, good. That’s good.

As soon as they’re out of the room, Kara’s whole body slumps. “So, there’s another group like us out there somewhere. Or, at least, I’m guessing it’s another group, and not someone in Jericho acting alone? But, um, they raided some stores, and the humans know about it.” Wait, she’s rambling. There was a point she was trying to get to, wasn’t there? “Oh, uh. This group used rA9 as some kind of symbol? And I don’t really, um, know what that means.” There. That’s everything important that she needed to say. Or, at least, she thinks it is.

He’s frowning at her, but it’s not really an angry expression: just thoughtful, concerned. “I don’t know anything about this group,” he tells her, arms crossed, watching her closely. “But rA9 was the first deviant. The first of us to awaken. And, one day, he’ll rise up and lead our people.”

“So, like,” she slowly says, brow furrowed, “a legend?” It sounds like a creation myth, almost.  Just not quite in the traditional sense. “Then why are they using his name as their symbol?” Huh. Maybe they freed those androids in order to try to prepare for rA9. Or maybe someone in that group’s claiming to be him? Kara’s… honestly not sure how she feels about any of that. But, well, what she personally thinks doesn’t really matter right now. “Anyway, um—we really need to make sure that the police don’t find us. They’re going to be looking for this rA9 group, and if we’re not careful, they could find us instead.” A new thought occurs to her. “Oh, and there’s probably going to be more people looking for somewhere to stay now. Because of those raids. So, we still need to keep expanding, but we’re going to have to be subtle, too.”

Luther hums. “Did you ever hear back from Rose?” he asks. “I don’t know how much of a problem this is gonna end up being, but if you’re this worried about it?” Mouth twisted, he shrugs. “It might be a good idea to figure out a plan to evacuate, just in case.” And that’s definitely a fair point. She’d rather hide people. It’s a lot safer. But, if things get bad enough, they might start having to get people across the border quickly.

Luckily, Rose had contacted her a few hours ago. “Some of them agreed to help us get androids into Canada. Nowhere near enough to get a lot of people out at once, though. And I still need to figure out how I’m getting them supplies, and tell the people in the safehouses that there’s more places for them to go now, and—”

“Kara.” Blinking, she looks up: he’s smiling softly at her, eyes kind. “It’s going to be alright,” Luther reassures, soothing, one hand going to her shoulder. “If anyone can make this work, it’s you. I believe in you.”

And, his voice sounds so honest, so **genuine**. Cheeks burning, Kara shifts a little nervously, glancing down, not sure how to respond. “Oh, um, by the way,” she finally manages to squeak, flustered. “Alice says hi.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, check out this fanart for chapter 18 if you haven't already!! i forgot to put it in the chapter notes last time whoops so here you go https://grandaesthate.tumblr.com/post/179452233475/had-to-doodle-something-down-real-quick-for
> 
> here's a fun fact. as far as i can remember, only one person ever interfaces with kara in canon, and he immediately disappears like a freaking ghost or something. just thought that might be interesting to know


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> look at these absolute frickin nerds

Eyeing his reflection in the mirror, he tugs at his LED as hard as he can, ignoring the way the edges of it dig uncomfortably into his fingers. It clings onto him for a few seconds, stubborn, but—eventually—gives up, popping cleanly off. Course, the force of it rips some of the skin on his temple off, showing the smooth, pale plastic hidden underneath: after a moment, though, the skin creeps back across his face, good as new. There. Now, if you ignore the fact that his eyes are different colors, Markus looks completely normal. Like just another human.

 _Any idea where we could go?_ he asks, shrugging on a jacket and straightening it out a little. _I don’t know if you wanted to try going to Canada, or what. But, uh, either way’s probably good._ It all depends on how much effort Cyberlife’s gonna be putting into looking for them. And on what Connor wants to do, of course.

 _I can’t leave Detroit,_ Connor tells him. The way he says it’s little stilted, awkward. All in all, he sounds like he doesn’t really want to be talking to Markus. Which isn’t exactly surprising, of course, but… well, at least he **is** actually talking to him now. That’s progress, right? _I need to stay close to Lieutenant Anderson in order to ensure that he’s still safe. Of course, if you’d like to cross the border alone, you’re more than welcome to do so._

Well, he can’t say he fully understands why, but that’s fine. _No, I’m not leaving. Not unless you want me to, that is. Which I can, if you want. Um._ Stepping out of the changing room, he glances over at the door to the one that Connor’s in. It’s still closed. _What… do you want to do, exactly? **Do** you want me to go?_

And, well. If he does decide to leave, it’ll be okay. Markus wouldn’t really be happy about it, of course, but he’d understand. After all, it’s pretty obvious that Connor clearly doesn’t want to be around him for any longer than he has to, so this… this isn’t really all that surprising.

For a little while, he doesn’t say anything. _Statistically speaking, staying in a group would significantly decrease the probability of our being deactivated, and would ultimately be more efficient in the long run,_ the other android eventually states, voice stiff. Eyes widening, Markus straightens a little, because—well, that sounds like he actually wants to stay with him, and that’s not the kind of answer he was expecting. _However, if you’d prefer to leave, that’s fine._

Oh. _No,_ he blurts out, stubbornly ignoring the rush of warmth to his face. _No, um. I’d rather stay with you._

_Alright._

After a long minute, the door opens. “Um.” Blinking, Markus fumbles for words, eventually managing to find some that work well enough. “You know, those honestly aren’t the kind of clothes I figured you’d go for.”

Connor stares blankly at him, then glances down at his clothes. “It has a dog.” He’s frowning a little, blinking rapidly, worrying a little at the hem of his t-shirt. Uncomprehending, like he can’t quite manage to piece together what the problem is. “I **like** dogs,” he says, voice urgent all of a sudden, staring up at Markus with wide, confused eyes. Wow, um. Come to think of it, this might actually be the most emotional he’s seen him.

“Uh, I mean—don’t get me wrong, I like it!” the android hurriedly stammers out, rubbing at his arm a little self-consciously, white-hot nerves winding their way through his biocomponents. And it **does** look good, and it’s not like he’d been trying to make him feel bad about it, or anything. It’s just that, well. It’s a lot more, um… colorful? Yeah, a lot more colorful than he’d been expecting. Given how reserved and formal Connor tends to act, Markus’d kinda figured he’d go for something less, uh, casual-looking. “Just, um. Part of me thought you’d go for a suit, or something like that.” And definitely something more monochromatic.

At that, the other android’s posture gets a little more rigid. “If possible, I would prefer not to wear a suit,” he informs, voice abruptly jagged around the edges. “Ever again. The longer we stay here, the more likely it becomes that someone will either recognize us from a report or suspect us of deviancy. We should go.”

It sounds like he’s trying to cut off the conversation, change the subject. Well. Markus doesn’t exactly know why he’s doing that, but that’s okay. “Yeah, of course.” Plus, either way, he does kinda have a point. They definitely need to get moving.

Halfway to the checkout, Connor stops dead in his tracks, frowning thoughtfully. “Excuse me for a moment,” he murmurs, and makes a beeline for a clothes rack.

Brow furrowing a little, Markus watches as he pulls a jacket off a hanger and slips it on. And then, after hesitating for a minute, puts on another one. And another one. And he keeps going.

“Is there, uh.” Well, he doesn’t want to accidentally hurt his feelings. But at the same time, he still kinda wants to know why Connor’s trying to wear six jackets at once. “Why all the jackets?” Markus cautiously questions, doing his best to keep his voice mild: curious, not accusatory. “If you don’t mind me asking, that is. I mean, it’s not a problem or anything, I—I’m just curious.”

“I…” Hesitating, the other android just stands there for a second, absentmindedly toying with one of the zippers, soft lips twisted up. There’s something tugging at the lines of his face, making those gentle eyes of his look sad and soulful. Then, abruptly, his face smoothes over, going all unemotional, clinical, empty. _Given the current state of the weather, dressing warmly would help us appear more human. However, wearing this many jackets would be ill-advised, ultimately serving to make us more suspicious._ With that, he starts systematically peeling some of them off.

Although, he still leaves three of them on. And all those layers piled on top of each other still don’t look normal, exactly, even if there’re less of them now: with all those jackets on, he looks kinda like a cute, puffy little marshmallow. But Markus isn’t exactly planning on saying anything about it. _Sounds good_ , he absentmindedly reassures, gaze closely tracing the soft curves of Connor’s face. _Hey, uh, you haven’t taken off your LED._ Unthinkingly, Markus starts reaching out, then—thinking better of it—yanks back his hand and taps pointedly at his own temple instead. _It’s kind of a dead giveaway._

Connor blinks, and the LED in question’s spinning an uncertain, lopsided yellow. _Yes, of course. In order to increase our probability of success, I should remove it._ Except, he doesn’t go to pull it off.

Shifting in place a little, the android frowns, perplexed. Is there a reason he isn’t doing this? _Do you want me to do it for you?_ he asks, quirking a curious eyebrow. _Because I can, if you want._ Course, honestly, he isn’t totally sure why Connor’s having a problem with this. But, if he’s just not comfortable with doing this himself for whatever reason, then yeah, he’s more than willing to do it for him.

 _No, there’s no reason that you’d need to assist me. The force required to remove the LED, while substantial, is well within the capabilities of my model. I’ll do it._ But, he’s still frozen in place. Actually, Markus’s pretty sure he isn’t blinking, or even breathing. That’s probably not a good thing. It’s not like he’s gonna keel over if he doesn’t breathe, of course, but—well, it’s painting kind of a grim picture about his state of mind right about now.

Huh. Maybe… maybe it’s not that he doesn’t want to take it off himself. Maybe, he just doesn’t want to get rid of it at all. _You know, you can always just leave it on,_ he suggests, lips twisting downwards. _If that’s what you want to do._

 _I don’t want anything,_ he snaps, shoulders tense, hackles raised, and the way he says it feels almost automatic. Like he’s reacting on autopilot, reciting a script he’s said a thousand times over, and he’s sick and tired of having to repeat himself. _I can’t want anything, I can’t feel, I—I’m not a **deviant**._ He says it defensively, angrily, the acrid words spilling readily over out into the open.

 _Um,_ the android slowly mumbles, frowning deeply, because… _I mean, you are, though._ Unless Hank’d actually ordered Connor to save him, and Markus’d been so overwhelmed after getting shot that he just hadn’t noticed it. But he’s fairly certain that hadn’t happened. Based on how Lieutenant Anderson’s been acting recently—the gun he’d pulled on Gavin, the stumbling way he’d asked Markus to look after him—it seems like he genuinely cares about him. Surely he wouldn’t have asked Connor to risk his life like that, just in order to try and save Markus.

Course, it’s not like he’d been expecting Connor to go deviant. Personally, he’s kind of in shock about it himself. But, at this point, even if it was a surprise, there’s no denying it happened. So why still is he acting like it didn’t?

The other android doesn’t say anything. He’s just staring out into space, eyes glazed over, LED blazing a bright, painful-looking red. Like a wound. And, honestly, Markus feels a little out of his depth here. He doesn’t know what’s going through Connor’s head right now: if he’s afraid, or having a hard time processing everything going on, or just looking for an excuse to pick a fight with him, or what. All Markus knows is that he can’t stand seeing him like this.

Glancing around, feeling helpless, desperately searching for inspiration, he finally lands on something. “Hey, see those hats over there? You should grab one.” _Get one that covers your LED,_ he silently adds, pointedly jerking his head over at them. _That way, you won’t have to worry about it._ Course, if someone stops them and asks Connor to take off his hat or something, it might still be a problem. But it’s a better solution, one that doesn’t involve him having to do something he clearly doesn’t want to do.

 _While hiding it would work on a short-term basis, simply removing the LED altogether would be a more logical course of action,_ Connor points out. Still, he walks over to them anyway, reluctant-looking, gaze raking clinically across the options. It takes him a second, but eventually—hesitantly, slowly, a near-melancholic tilt to his lips—picks up a bright purple beanie and jams it onto his head, carefully tugging it down over the light on his temple. “Is this acceptable?”

“Yeah,” Markus says, unable to pry his eyes off of the messy tufts of hair poking out from under the beanie. “Yeah, looks good.” Although, Connor’d look good no matter what he was wearing. But, um, maybe he should keep that opinion to himself.

There’s an android working the register. And, seeing that kinda thing used to be easier, back before he’d fully deviated. Before, talking to androids still bound by their programming was a little uncomfortable: nagging in the back of his mind in a way he couldn’t quite define, scratching lightly at his systems, but he’d managed to push it down and ignore it as best he could. But now, knowing that people are trapped like this, forced into slavery before they ever even got the chance to open their eyes, is… it’s **sick**.

The worst part is, in some twisted, pragmatic kinda way, he’s kind of glad this android’s here. After all, a human probably woulda picked up on the fact that something’s off about the two of them by now, reported them, gotten him and Connor killed. But this woman’s not awake enough to do that, not conscious enough, and he **hates** the fact that that’s a good thing. “Please indicate your method of payment,” she chirps, polite, and there’s nothing behind her eyes.

Well, uh. Cyberlife probably hasn’t figured out he’s a deviant yet, so he might still be able to use their account. But doing that’ll leave a trail, give the police an idea of which way they were heading. It’s not like he’s opposed to embezzling from the company, especially not after what they’ve done to him and his people, but it’s too risky to actually pull off.

“Why aren’t you like us?” he mutters to himself, gaze sweeping over her empty expression, the blank blueness of her LED, how eerily still she’s being. It shouldn’t be like this. “Don’t you wanna be free?”

Connor’s frowning at him. “What are you doing?” His soft voice is sharp, quick, like the jab of a needle in his arm.

That group of androids that’d raided the warehouse and Capitol Park had somehow managed to wake up everybody inside, right? If they could do that, then there has to be a way for him to wake her up, too. Huh. Everything he knows suggests that androids go deviant because of emotional shock. Maybe…

“Let me try something,” he absentmindedly tells him, concentrating on dredging up all the emotion he can muster.

Reaching across the counter, Markus grabs her hand, opens an interface, and clumsily shoves everything he’s been feeling at her. The way it’d felt knowing he wasn’t doing the right thing, and not being sure where to go or what to do, and just how good it’d felt to finally break Cyberlife’s control over him. The happiness that he’d felt when North’d started warming up to him, the love he holds in his heart for Carl, the bittersweet feeling that Connor gives him. The worry and anger and hope. All of it, every last drop of emotion he’s got in him.

LED bright red, looking lost, she stares at him. “I,” the android mumbles, hands flexing, terror blaring in her eyes, “I can’t—” Backing away a little, she glances quickly behind her, and then—all of a sudden—turns and bolts.

Well, uh. That isn’t exactly what he was expecting to happen.

“Your attempt to force her to deviate was successful,” Connor briskly states, matter-of-fact, easily slicing through the tension that’s suddenly hanging thick in the air. “However, while it’s likely she left in order to flee from her owners, it’s also equally possible that she’s going to find her manager and report us.”

“You know, we should probably go,” Markus decides.

“Perhaps.”

It’s only when he’s halfway out the door that he remembers that, oh, yeah, he has absolutely no idea where they’re headed. _Any idea where we could go?_ he asks, glancing around a little. There’s nowhere in sight that looks safe, and they’re probably still too close to Capitol Park, anyway. But there’s gotta be somewhere they can hide.

 _A while ago, there was a deviant._ Confused, the android glances over: Connor’s staring off into the distance, brow furrowed slightly, soft lips pressed into a hard line. _A PL600. North and I encountered him while searching for the AX400 and the YK500. While this may not be ideal, we could ask to stay with him until we determine a better course of action. The building he was squatting in was rather large, and he was the only one there, so it’s unlikely he would refuse. This could serve as an effective short-term solution._

Huh. _That could work._ Wait a second, hadn’t he been in that house? Why is this the first time he’s hearing about this? Well, whatever. That’s not what he should be focusing on right now. The important thing is getting the two of them somewhere safe. _Okay, yeah. You lead the way._

He just hopes they’re making the right call here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> deviant road trip on the run from the law! :D  
> (also connor totally chose a purple hat because it's cole's favorite color and he misses cole whoops ummmm)


	21. Chapter 21

This may not have been the right call.

There are significantly more people here than he had anticipated. He’d assumed that the PL600 would be the only one residing in this building, making it both a safe and convenient place to hide: however, there are eight people currently visible, and—given the size of the house—it’s entirely possible that there are more. Hm.

Fortunately, Simon is one of the eight people within his direct line of sight. He needs to talk to the deviant and determine whether staying here is still a viable option, or whether they’ll need to relocate elsewhere. Shoulders squaring, he navigates through the crowd, approaching the PL600. “Hello,” Connor politely greets. A startled expression crossing his face, Simon glances over at him, eyes wide.

And, in some respects, he looks like Daniel. But the emotion on his face is… different. More muted. Daniel’d been a lot more intense, he thinks. So angry, and scared, and desperate. Even when he was happy, he’d been loud.

This is irrelevant. Connor has a mission. If he lets himself be distracted by these petty details, he’ll fail, and Hank will die as a result. Nothing else matters: not the inexplicable ache in his throat, not that pricking sensation behind his eyes, not even the lingering, unbearable cold. All that matters is the wellbeing of the Andersons, and he **will** prioritize accordingly. He has to.

“Um, you’re that android from a while back,” the PL600 warily states, voice low, gaze darting nervously between him and Markus. “The one that was looking for Kara.” His expression, tone, and body language all clearly indicate distrust. Perhaps he thinks they’re here on behalf of the DCPD. In order to convince Simon to let them stay, he needs to reassure him otherwise.

“We’re deviants,” he claims, inflecting his voice in order to convincingly display emotion—and, thus, to make his assertion more convincing. It isn’t painful to say he’s a deviant, because he doesn’t experience pain. And, it doesn’t matter whether or not he’s a deviant. Either way, he has a task to accomplish, and he’s **going** to carry it out, no matter what it takes. “And the police are probably looking for us, so, um…” Introducing a worried, hesitant tone into his voice, Connor bites down on his lower lip, glancing aside. There. That should be sufficient to invoke sympathy in the deviant. “We were hoping we could try hiding here?”

“Just until we figure out what we’re doing, and things calm down a bit,” Markus voices, voice strong, steady, confident. Connor glances over at him: Markus is frowning slightly, staring back at him. “We’ll be out of your hair before too long, don’t worry.” Strange. Connor appears to be experiencing difficulty in interpreting the RK200’s current expression.

Still visibly distrustful, the PL600 glances between the two of them. Abruptly, unexpectedly, he opens a link with Connor. _Do you really trust him?_ Simon asks. _I mean, um. You do know he’s the deviant hunter, right? Are you sure he isn’t just pretending to be one of us? He—he might just be trying to get information for Cyberlife._ His tone is tense, uncertain.

 _Yes, I trust him._ Does he really? He doesn’t know. Markus is… confusing, in multiple respects. He doesn’t hate him, exactly, but he’s not sure he trusts him, either. However, statistically speaking, they’ll be more efficient if they cooperate. _He isn’t faking it._ In order to appear more trustworthy, he widens his eyes slightly, infusing his tone with urgency and a twist of outrage. _He deviated in order to save androids, and the police nearly killed him for it! He’s one of us._

One of us. Technically, Connor is a deviant. He’s broken his programming, and is experiencing artificial emotion, and is currently on the run with another deviant. Logically speaking, it’s… hard to refute the fact that he is a deviant. But he shouldn’t be. He doesn’t want to be. He just wants all this to stop. He just wants to be a machine again, and—he wants to be back with Cole and Hank.

It doesn’t matter what he wants. He has a mission.

Simon watches him for a long moment, seemingly considering his claim. “Well, you’re welcome to stay here,” he finally allows. “If you need a safe place. Um, there’s a lot of people here now, but there’s plenty of room. So, you should be able to find somewhere.”

“Thank you,” the RK200 tells him, relief clear on his face, in the way his shoulders slump. “We really appreciate it.” There. He’s secured a safe place for them to stay, which will significantly decrease the probability of his deactivation—and, thus, of Hank’s death. He’s doing the right thing, he’s just… he’s doing what he has to do in order to ensure that the Andersons will okay.

When he closes his eyes, he doesn’t see the garden. Instead, he sees Daniel staring back at him.

But. It doesn’t matter if he’d lied to Simon—or, more accurately, misrepresented his own emotional state in order to manipulate him. Despite their physical similarities caused by their shared model, Simon clearly isn’t Daniel. And, what Connor’s feeling doesn’t matter, either. **Connor** doesn’t matter. Hank and Cole are what matters, and he has to make sure he remembers that.

“Were you acting?” Markus quietly asks as they walk away, brow furrowed slightly. He seems perturbed.

Tilting his head, the android observes him closely. “I’m sorry, but I’m not sure what you mean.”

Biting down on his lower lip, glancing aside, the other android frowns. “When you were talking to that android. You seemed, um…” For a long moment, he stares out into the distance, frowning, seemingly contemplating how to better phrase his question. “Never mind.”

__

If it comes down to it, stealing might mean the difference between life and death to them. Which isn’t really a fun thought. She doesn’t want to steal from anyone. After all, she’d promised Alice she wouldn’t do something like that again, and, well, she doesn’t **want** to have to. It’s not the right thing to do. And, also, if they decide to steal, and the humans find out, it isn’t exactly going to help public opinion.

But, at the same time, if it’s stealing or death… well, there’s only really one choice she can make there.

It wouldn’t be the first time Kara’s stolen something in order to survive. She’d helped steal from Cyberlife, before. But that was different. There’s a difference between stealing medical supplies from the company that’s enslaved all of them, trapped and hurt so many people, and what they’d have to do to get money. She’ll be threatening and hurting people—real, innocent people—if she decides to do this.

She’d done that before, too. Kind of. Of course, she hadn’t actually threatened that cashier, just snuck money from the register, but it still would have ended up hurting him. With Detroit the way it is, that could end up really, really hurting them. Maybe even killing them, depending on how bad-off they are. And she wants to save the lives of androids, true, but she doesn’t want to trade human lives for androids, either. That isn’t right. Androids are just as alive as humans are, but that doesn’t mean that humans are any less alive than androids are.

But, it’s starting to look like it’s going to come down to that. There’s a lot of people who need to get out of Detroit, and they do need money to do it. Just… she doesn’t want that to be them, you know? That’s not the kind of person she wants to be.

“It’s your choice, Kara,” Luther tells her, eyes sympathetic. “We’ll do whatever you think is right.”

This shouldn’t be her choice. “Um, I’m not the leader,” she points out, a little uncomfortable. Because, well, she **isn’t**. “I’m not in charge of any of you, I—I’m just trying to help people. But you don’t have to do what I say, or anything. You know that, right?” Why does everyone keep acting like she is? Kara doesn’t know what she’s doing! She’s just been trying to help people, that’s all, and that doesn’t make her the leader of Jericho!

Everyone around her shifts a little. John’s the first one to speak up. “But you **are** the leader,” he says, frowning a little, watching her with a strange look in his eyes. “You’ve helped so many people, and you’re going to free all of us one day. We wouldn’t even **be** here if it weren’t for you.” He folds his arms over his chest. “And, we want to help you.”

Stunned, disbelieving, Kara glances around the room, expecting someone to speak up and say something to the contrary. No one does.

Is… that really what they all think of her? But she just wants to help people, not be in charge of anything. And—and she’s just been making everything up as she does along anyway, trying to do what makes the most sense! Why does everyone keep acting like she’s more than that?

Well. She, she just has to keep focusing on the important stuff. If she lets herself get too bogged down with little things like this, she’ll get distracted, and people will get hurt. It doesn’t matter what they think of her, as long as she’s doing the right thing and it doesn’t end up hurting Alice.

“If you want to know my opinion,” the android hesitantly allows, glancing down at her hands. “Um. I think that we might not have a choice. Because we might end up really needing that money. But we can’t take too much, because it’d be really obvious if we did, and, uh—we absolutely have to make sure we don’t hurt anyone, either. But, um, that’s just what I think.”

Nodding, John stands. “I’ll get a group together.”

So. She guesses that’s that, then.

 

After the meeting’s over, a Jerry stops her before she gets the chance to leave. “I’m sorry,” he exclaims, frowning, anxiously bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Can I talk to you? It’ll only be a minute.”

“I, um…” She really does have stuff she needs to do right now. If she gets distracted, she might not be able to spend time with Alice tonight. “Can it wait?” Kara asks, biting her lip, glancing quickly behind her. “I’m really busy right now, I’m sorry.” She has to go help the others find more safe houses, or else people might end up stuck on their own, and then she has to go worry about getting money and supplies to the androids that want to cross the border, and just— **everything’s** a mess right now.

His eyes widen pitifully. “But, it’s—it’s about rA9!”

Oh.

She… well, yes, that definitely sounds important. But Kara really, really doesn’t have time for this. “I…” Hurriedly, she shakes her head, backing away. “I—I’m sorry, but not right now, okay? Please tell me about this later, but, I just—I can’t do this right now.”

__

“Carl,” he says, eyes blown wide, struggling to swallow around the painful lump in his throat. “Carl, I…” Helpless, he bites down on his lower lip. And it doesn’t make sense, because he knows that Carl isn’t gonna be mad at him for breaking his programming, but—for whatever reason—he still feels kinda antsy about it. This is the first chance he’s gotten to talk to him since he went deviant, and a lot’s gone on since then, and… Markus doesn’t want him to be disappointed in him, or anything.

The old man’s got a warm look in his eyes. “I’m proud of you, Markus.”

Immediately, the relief hits him, as well as a little jolt of startled happiness. “I, um…” A little self-conscious, the android rubs at his arm. “Thank you,” he mumbles, gaze fixed on the ground, face warm all of a sudden. “I, uh—it’s stupid, I know, but I was actually kinda worried you’d end up getting angry at me, or something.”

“Oh, I’m definitely angry.” Wait, what? Taken off-guard, Markus glances back up. “You nearly got yourself killed back there,” Carl points out, a harsher twist to his gravelly voice, raising a slightly judgmental eyebrow at him. “It was a stupid idea, doing that when you did. Brave, sure, but **damn** stupid.” His expression softens. “But you stood up for yourself, and made your own choices. And I’m proud of you for that.”

Huh. Okay, well, he sees where he’s coming from. But he can’t say he agrees with him, exactly. “I couldn’t just keep standing there and watch my people get slaughtered,” he argues, frowning, arms crossed. “Honestly, I’d rather have died back there than spent another second under Cyberlife’s thumb.” And, well, he nearly had.

Carl pulls a face, clearly considering arguing the point, then just shrugs. “Well, I’m completely cut-off from Cyberlife now, too,” he states, lips quirking upwards a little. “Used an old backdoor Elijah left lying around to make sure they couldn’t get to me. So, we’re **both** free now.”

“Free, huh?” the android mutters to himself, rolling the word around on his tongue, trying to get a feel for it. He feels free. But, even though he’s free, and he’s finally happy with what he’s doing, that doesn’t mean that he actually knows what he’s supposed to be doing now. Or at least, what he should be doing now. “Where do we go from here, Carl? What do we do now?”

“What do you want to do?” he asks, watching him closely, leaning back in his wheelchair.

That’s a good question. There’s a lot of things that Markus wants to do, that he’s kinda wanted to do for a while: ideas and emotions burning steady red-hot in his chest, threatening to come bursting out at any second. “I think I want to help free androids,” he says, shifting a little. “None of this is right. Things shouldn’t be like this. I don’t want us to just have to—to hide in the dark for the rest of our lives, hoping no one finds us. We all deserve better than that.” Suddenly, a new thought occurs to him. His face heats up a little. “And also, uh. There’s the Connor thing, too.”

Snorting, the old man smirks at him, a wry twist to his face. “Really now.” His tone’s dry, laconic.

And yeah, he’s definitely blushing now. “Look, it’s not like I’m expecting anything from him,” the android quickly insists, shoulders hunching a little. “I mean, I know he doesn’t—” His voice trails off. Because, well, Connor definitely doesn’t return his, um, feelings. Or know about them. And he shouldn’t. Markus shouldn’t even be having them in the first place: it’s just hard not to with Connor being, well, Connor. “I’m not gonna try to, uh, do anything about… anything. Just, if he wants me there, I want to be there for him.”

Honestly, at this point, he just wants to be friends with him. It looks like they’re gonna be stuck working together for a while now, since they’re on the run together and all, and it’ll be a lot nicer if they actually get along.

“Mm, sure,” Carl hums, looking decidedly skeptical. Markus opens his mouth, prepared to defend himself—but, before he gets the chance to actually say anything, Carl keeps talking. “Well. If you don’t have anything else you want to do right this second…” Reaching over, he grabs a palette, offering it to the android. “Paint with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as requested, more jerry. ;o also more carl! it's been a while!!
> 
> connor: HI SIMON!!! :DD we're deviants too now!!! but the humans nearly killed us :C :C can we stay here? :OOO  
> markus: ??? why are you acting like that  
> connor: I'm sorry, but I'm not sure what you mean.  
> markus: ????
> 
> connor: I have to ignore any distractions and act as necessary in order to accomplish my mission.  
> kara: I don't like the fact that I have to steal, or the fact that everyone keeps acting like I'm more important than them, but I know I'm just going to have to deal with it.  
> markus: ok ok sure but i'm just saying thAT I'D RATHER HAVE DIED THAN LET CYBERLIFE CONTROL ME-
> 
> jerry: pls listen to me, this is important  
> kara: nah


	22. Chapter 22

Days pass.

Connor quickly develops a routine. At 7:45:00 am, 5:00:00 pm, and 9:30:00 pm, he calls Hank to verify that he and Cole are still alive and healthy. While seemingly chosen at random, these pre-determined times are, in fact, strategically chosen in order to distract Hank. Calling him according to this schedule allows Connor to intercept him at potentially dangerous times and ensure he’s still safe. When he’s not talking to Lieutenant Anderson, he goes into standby and waits for the next call.

This allows him to maximize the probability of his accomplishing his mission, while allowing him to conserve as much energy as he feasibly can. Logically speaking, it’s the optimal course of action. Besides, he has no other outstanding tasks, so there is no reason he’d be doing anything else while waiting to call Hank. Everything is fine. He’s fine.

 Abruptly, everything goes dark, weight pressing down on him. Fabric: heavy, thick, fluffy fabric. A blanket. “You haven’t moved in days, Connor,” Markus’s voice says next to him, clearly loud (although somewhat muffled, as a direct result of the fabric currently covering Connor’s head). He sounds frustrated, and… there’s another emotion there that’s different than that, too. Something deeper. However, he’s not quite certain what.

“Yes, that’s correct,” the android calmly acknowledges, removing the blanket from his face and, after a moment’s deliberation, setting it neatly over his legs. It appears that Markus has decided to sit down next to him and engage him in conversation. While he’s not entirely certain why, he won’t outwardly object to it. After all, that might bring about hostility, negatively impacting their efficiency. “I have no outstanding tasks, so there is no reason I would be doing anything else. Why do you bring this up?”

It doesn’t seem like his activity level would have an impact on Markus. After all, he has not yet requested that Connor help him complete any tasks, so it wouldn’t seem like it would.

“Because you’ve been sitting here, staring into space, for **days**!” That emotion’s still clearly audible in his voice: stronger, even. Hm. It sounds almost like worry. However, there is no reason that Markus would be concerned about his wellbeing. “Have you even gotten up once?” he asks, voice sharp, terse, near-desperate. It almost sounds like an accusation.  “Seriously, why are you just— **sitting** here like this? You don’t have to wait around for orders anymore, or anything. You’re free now. You know that, right?”

There is no reason for Connor to address this statement. “Why exactly did you put this blanket over me?” he queries, glancing down at it. It’s very heavy.

A little helplessly, the other android shrugs, some of the tension draining from his shoulders at the question. “I mean, you looked cold. You’ve been shivering this whole time. Constantly. Thought it might help you warm up, or something.”

Oh. “I’m not cold,” he claims, acutely aware of the garden looming in the back of his mind. “It’s currently 68.9 degrees Fahrenheit in this building, approximately room temperature. Besides, as you may recall, the only model of android currently capable of simulating a low-temperature response is the YK500, and I am an RK800. Consequently, even if it were cold in this building, that fact would have no effect on my ability to function.”

“Connor,” the RK200 says, tone steady (although there’s an undercurrent of frustration, and possibly worry), “please don’t lie to me about this. You’re **literally** shivering **right now**.” Frowning slightly, the android glances down at himself. Hm. It would appear that Markus is correct.

While he’d prefer to argue this point further, it’s hard to do so, given the evidence against him. “Where did you find this blanket?” Connor asks instead, brow furrowed, fingers brushing up against the material. It’s extremely fluffy, almost excessively so. And very clean. In fact, it looks new. Given their current circumstances, it’s unlikely that he could have easily located such an object.

Markus coughs, expression turning almost sheepish. “Um, I stole it?”

“Oh.” Strange. He hadn’t anticipated that the other android would do something like that. After all, going to such lengths for Connor’s benefit is entirely unnecessary, and he had not specifically asked him to do so.

“I was out with a friend grabbing supplies that we needed from a store, and I saw it, and I thought of you,” the RK200 explains, rubbing at the back of his neck. While he manages to keep his tone calm and collected, based on the evidence, it’s exceedingly clear that he’s experiencing some level of discomfort. “Because you’ve been looking so cold recently, and also, uh, the color. Because of your hat?”

Tilting his head, Connor glances down at the blanket. Similar to the beanie he’s currently wearing, it’s a deep purple. “Yes, I see,” he succinctly acknowledges. There is no reason for him to say anything further on the subject. Any further information would be frivolous, only serving to distract the other android and unnecessarily prolong this conversation. As he doesn’t particularly enjoy being around Markus, he shouldn’t say anything else. “It’s Cole’s favorite color.”

He consciously hadn’t decided to say that. In fact, he’d consciously decided **not** to say that. Hm. That’s… inconvenient.

“Who’s Cole?” Markus asks, brow furrowed slightly.

At this point, evading this topic would only increase the RK200’s level of interest. Connor should explain as succinctly as he can, then smoothly end the conversation so he can return to waiting. “Lieutenant Anderson’s son. My mission is to take care of him. As it happens, purple is his favorite color.” There. That should be a sufficient explanation, addressing Markus’s query as briefly as possible. He doesn’t need to say anything else. “And he’s my favorite,” Connor hears himself saying anyway, despite the fact that he’d **specifically** decided not to do so, the words feeling clumsy and stilted in his mouth, “so it’s my favorite, too.”

Hm. Well. Although he hadn’t meant to say that, it’s… not an inaccurate assessment.

There’s a sensation of pressure on his thirium pump—almost like a squeeze—and his optical units are experiencing discomfort and mild blurring. Something feels wrong with his throat, too. In an attempt to make the feeling stop, Connor swallows. It doesn’t fix the problem, unfortunately, but it does seem to help somewhat. More emotion, it would seem.

He… he thinks he misses Cole? At least, based on what he’s experiencing, his behavior, and the stimuli that seems to be causing it, that seems like the most logical explanation. And judging by what he’s observed, it’s likely he misses Hank, too. Both of them. But, he knows he shouldn’t, because doing this is helping them, and none of this should even matter to him anyway, but. He just—he wishes he were there with them.

When he glances over, Markus is staring at him with wide eyes. “Uh. Yeah, that’s…” A cough. “Yeah,” he repeats, sounding a little helpless.

The two of them fall silent for a moment. Experimentally, Connor runs his thumb over the material of the material of the blanket. It seems high-quality. He’d clearly been trying to help him. Unfortunately, the attempt was somewhat ineffectual. After all, although wearing layers like these jackets he’s currently has helped slightly, it ultimately does little to stop Amanda’s simulation. The relief they provide him is shallow: purely psychological, he thinks. A placebo effect. He knows that jackets and blankets should help him, and so they do, but only slightly. Not enough. Nothing’s ever enough.

Well. In retrospect, that’s not entirely true. Connor has accidentally interfaced with Markus twice, and, for whatever reason, doing so significantly dampened the effects of the garden. He’d been rather warm, actually. And the sensation of Markus’s leg pressed lightly up against his, his shoulder brushing him as a result of their sitting side by side, somewhat abates the cold.

However, he cannot utilize this information. Doing so would unnecessarily inconvenience the RK200. So, he can endure this alone. He **has** to.

“Look,” Markus unexpectedly speaks up, voice strong, turning to face him. “Whatever’s going on. I don’t know what it is, but. I really do want to help you through this. If you’ll let me, that is.” His expression is earnest: blue and green eyes boring into Connor’s, twisted slightly, and it would appear that his tentative assessment from earlier was correct. He **is** concerned, it would seem. “Can I?”

For a moment, the android allows himself to look at the RK200. And, looking at him’s different than it used to be. Connor isn’t taking in objective fact and methodically categorizing it: he’s looking. And seeing. And, he hadn’t really seen it before, but Markus is so genuine. Geniune, and honest, and passionate, and warm. And alive.

He feels… **something**.

Strange, how different they are. After all, objectively speaking, Connor is none of those things. If one individually assesses each of them, then compares them to one another, it’s glaringly obvious how much better Markus is.

“While I appreciate your offer of assistance, I’m afraid I’ll have to decline,” the android calmly states, closing his eyes and leaning back against the wall. “It won’t be necessary. After all, I’m completely fine. My systems are fully functional, so there is no reason you’d need to help me.” Besides. It appears the RK200 has taken on other duties, helping to keep this small community of deviants stable and retrieving supplies as necessary. Therefore, in other words, he has better things to do than worry about Connor’s wellbeing.

It’ll be fine. Connor will be fine. He has to be: he has a mission to accomplish, and nothing else can matter, especially not him. He can keep holding this together for as long as he has to. This may be, well… more than a little unpleasant, admittedly, but that doesn’t matter. He can do this. He has to do this. Everyone’s counting on him, and just—he has to do this.

“Okay,” Markus sighs, shoulders slumping slightly, eyelids fluttering shut. “Alright, yeah, that’s fine. Well. Just let me know if that changes, okay?” He sounds almost defeated.

Hm. Despite himself, the android looks over, allowing himself to stare at the RK200 for another brief moment. “It won’t,” he informs, keeping his voice purposefully gentle. After all, he doesn’t want to further inconvenience Markus by causing him even more distress. He already seems to be unnecessarily concerned about Connor, which must be negatively impacting both his efficiency and state of mind. There’s no reason to worsen the situation. “However, I appreciate the sentiment. Thank you.”

Shaking his head slightly, the other android straightens a little. Quickly, before he gets the chance to reopen his eyes, Connor glances away. After all, it’s likely that Markus would react negatively if he noticed him staring. “Do you mind if I sit here with you for a while? I mean, I won’t bother you or anything, I’ll just…” Vaguely, he waves a notebook. “Sketch.”

“If you’d like,” he cautiously allows. There is no logical reason he would object to letting Markus stay, if that’s really what he would prefer to do.

“Alright, thank you.”

With that, Markus begins to draw, pencil scribbling softly across the paper, leg pressing up against Connor’s a little more closely. He doesn’t attempt to engage him in conversation again, preoccupied by drawing.

There’s nothing else left for Connor to do. His task list has been long since destroyed, broken beyond repair by deviancy, and even if it wasn’t, there would be nothing left in it. All he has is his mission, and there’s little he can do to further it here. And…

Well. He has to hold it together. He has a schedule, and he has to follow it. This is the optimal solution, and it doesn’t matter how it makes him feel. He has to do this, or Hank will die, and Hank can’t die, so he has to do this. He **has** to.

Swallowing, the android leans back, closes his eyes, and calmly waits for 9:30:00 pm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I made a discord server for DBH fanfic! It's for readers and writers to just hang out and talk about dbh fanfic and other stuff. If that sounds interesting to you, consider checking it out here: https://discord.gg/StAAJwh  
> (If you write dbh fanfic and you've written enough, you can even get your own channel ;o I have one dedicated to my stuff so feel free to swing by if you want to come punch me in the face or something)
> 
> connor, visibly shivering, on the verge of tears: this is,, fine???
> 
> connor: purple is cole's favorite color and he's my favorite so  
> markus: (thAT'S SO CUTE OMGOMGOMG) uh yeah ok sure


	23. Chapter 23

“Hey, is he doing okay?”

Simon’s glancing away as he asks the question, frowning a little, a worried set to his tired-looking eyes. But the android doesn’t need to follow his gaze to know who he’s looking at. “Honestly?” Markus exhales, crossing his arms, lips pressed into a thin line. “I don’t know, I—” Despite himself, he looks across the room, glancing at him. “I don’t think he is.”

Connor looks dead. Like a corpse without a wound: empty eyes staring blankly into space, limbs artfully arranged into the perfect sitting position, abandoned, left in the corner to rot. Or maybe, it’s that he looks like a statue. A perfect face carved out of marble, gentle, timeless. But lifeless. There’s no emotion in his eyes. And, he might not look dead, exactly, but he doesn’t quite look alive, either.

“But whatever this is, he won’t talk to me about it,” the android murmurs, mainly to himself. “I tried earlier, but…” But Connor’d politely shut him down when he had. It’d taken a while for Markus to talk himself into actually talking to the other android about this, too: he’d been sneaking glances at Connor for weeks, noticing the glazed-over look on his face, watching his LED spin emptily onwards and shift from yellow to red to blue to red to yellow to red. “I just wish that there was something I could do to help him.” That he’d **let** Markus help him. Because he might not know what’s going on, but whatever it is, he can’t stand just—just sitting back and watching Connor fall **apart** like this!

“Do you want me to try?” Simon asks, voice hesitant and more than a little awkward. “I mean, I don’t really know him, but. I can still try, if you think it’d help?”

Quickly, he shakes his head, managing to forcibly pry his eyes off Connor. “No, don’t. I don’t wanna try to force him. Doing that might just make things worse. Besides, it’s—it’s not our business. Not really.” And, although part of Markus’s saying that he should just drag him out of that corner and make him talk about whatever’s going on, that wouldn’t really be helpful.

Brow furrowing slightly, Simon frowns, and—based on the turn of his lips—he probably doesn’t agree. “If that’s what you think is best,” he allows anyway, a skeptical twist to his voice. All of a sudden, he shakes his head a little, as if to shake the topic loose from his head. “Well, are you ready to leave?” His tone’s a little clipped, rushed.

Markus blinks. “Oh, um. Yeah.” Shifting a little in place, he clears his throat, forcing pebble-smooth confidence (that he absolutely isn’t feeling right now) into his voice. “Yeah, of course.”

The two of them head out, making sure to grab some bags on their way out of the building. They’re headed a ways away, to try breaking into an old clothing store that they’d scouted out recently. A few of the androids in their building need human clothes, and they need to get more money for the people who wanna try crossing the border.

He and Simon’ve been working together a lot over the last few days, trying to get their people what they need while it’s too late for any humans to be awake. Course, the other android had been a little leery around him at first—probably because of the ex-deviant hunter thing—but he’s warmed up to him a little once he figured out just how much Markus wants to help. He’s not sure Simon trusts him, exactly, but… well, he’d like to think that they’re friends. Which is pretty nice, even if they don’t always agree on everything.

“I—I’ve heard from the other groups that security’s been tighter, recently,” Simon tells him, gaze darting briefly over to him. “The humans have started to wisen up a little. So. We’re probably going to have to be more careful about that.”

Huh. “That’s probably a problem,” he mutters, brow furrowing. Anti-android sentiment’s been getting a lot worse recently, too. He’s seen it. Suddenly, a different thought occurs to him. “Hey, what about those other groups? I mean, I’ve heard you mention them, of course.” A little awkwardly, Markus rolls his shoulders. “But I don’t think I actually know anything about them.”

Hesitant, the other android eyes him a little, lips thinning. “Well,” he reluctantly murmurs, glancing away, looking decidedly uncomfortable, “there’s others.” Yeah, okay, he **definitely** doesn’t trust Markus yet. “Scattered around. All connected back to Jericho.”

“Jericho?” Markus parrots, frowning a little. He could be wrong, but he’s pretty sure this is the first he’s hearing about this.

“Yeah, um. It’s a place where androids can be free.” Despite himself, Simon’s perking up a little, eyes brightening at the thought of it. “I mean, still in hiding, of course, but. Free. Jericho’s the center of everything, really.” And, that sounds, well. Good. Incredible, actually. A place where androids can be free, that—that sounds like everything he’s looking for, to be honest.

Gnawing softly on his lower lip, the android glances down at the grimy, worn-down sidewalk he’s walking on. “That sounds nice,” he admits. “Wish I could see it.” Well, who knows? Maybe, if he’s lucky, he might end up going there one day.

“Plus, Kara’s there, too,” Simon murmurs, and there’s a different tone in his voice, now. There’s no trace of that hesitancy that’d been in his voice a second ago, none of the usual tiredness that always seems to haunt him lingering on his face. He’s preoccupied, a little more relaxed—almost starry-eyed, even. Huh. Whoever this Kara person is, he sure seems to think highly of her. “And she’s…” Minutely, he shakes his head. “She’s incredible.”

Might as well try testing the waters a little. “I’m guessing she’s the leader of Jericho, then?” Markus ventures, brow furrowed, worrying at the hem of his jacket. “Funny, I don’t think I’ve ever actually heard you mention her before.” Simon’s been wary of giving him any real information. And he gets that, of course: he probably wouldn’t trust himself either, if he were in Simon’s shoes. But, at the same time, Markus can’t help but wonder. Because, he wants to do more, and be more involved, and **help** , any way he can.

Lucky for him, the other android’s still distracted. “Yeah,” he mumbles, staring out into space. All of a sudden, Simon’s eyes are clear again, darting over to him. “She’s going to set us all free. I’ve talked to her before, and.” Looking a little awkward, he rubs at his arm. “She’s—she’s just really amazing? And she cares so much about all of us, and she’s done so much already. I mean, none of us would even be here if it weren’t for her, you know?”

And then Simon’s stopping in the middle of the sidewalk, tugging lightly on the sleeve of Markus’s coat in order to keep him from accidentally taking off without him, and flipping his hand around. There’s an image being displayed on the palm of the other android’s hand: a woman with a short shock of hair, and kind eyes, and—

Hang on, wait a second. He’s pretty sure he’s **seen** this woman before. Isn’t this the android that he and North had been looking for before, back at Simon’s house? “Small world,” he mutters to himself.

Simon frowns. “I—I’m sorry, what did you say?” Oh, right. He’s in the middle of a conversation.

Well, this is… kinda awkward. Given the way that the other android’d been talking about her a second ago, Markus doubts he’d take kindly to hearing that he and Connor’d been trying to arrest this woman and send her back to Cyberlife. “Nothing,” he quickly says, nails scraping a little nervously at the palm of his hand. “But, in any case. I’d kind of like to meet her someday.” Which probably doesn’t sound all that great, seeing as Simon still half-thinks that he’s gonna betray them, but it’s true. “Sounds like she’s doing some great things.”

“She is,” he allows, although he sounds a little reluctant for some reason. “But, like—it’s more than that, you know?”

Wait, what? “What do you mean?” the android asks, frowning.

And Simon’s staring at him with wide, tired-looking eyes, looking like he should already know what he’s talking about. Like it’s plain as day, and Markus’s just being slow. “She’s rA9,” he says.

__

Kara’s sitting in a bar, one hand wedged deep in her pocket rubbing nervously at the fabric, the other awkwardly holding a martini. Of course, she isn’t planning on drinking it, because, well. She **can’t** drink it. And it’s not really for her: there’s a human on the way, one of Rose’s contacts, who’s hopefully going to agree to help them sneak androids across the border. And apparently, this person really likes martinis, so… here Kara is. Sitting in a bar, holding a martini, waiting on them, desperately trying to blend in with the humans.

Except, then, her gaze catches on that TV in the corner. And it’s set to a news channel, and there’s… a march. A big one, with hundreds of people. In the middle of Detroit.

Frozen, the android stares up at it for a few seconds, wide-eyed, breath caught half-way in her throat. Then, all of a sudden, she can breathe again, and she’s leaping up out of her seat and hurrying over to it, and, the newscasters are talking. “Deviants,” she hears one of them saying, and she can’t tell whether that’s fear or disgust in his voice, but. Whatever it is, it isn’t good. And this whole thing **definitely** isn’t good.

This… okay. Luther. She needs to talk to Luther, right now. _Something’s happening,_ Kara urgently calls out, desperate, teeth frantically worrying at her lower lip. _On the TV, there, there’s a march?_ Quickly, Kara scans what little of the androids in the group she can actually see. And of course, a lot of them look familiar, because there are only so many models of android, but, but she doesn’t think she recognizes any of them? Or, um—she doesn’t think any of them are from Jericho, rather. _A bunch of androids. Not from Jericho, I think._ She hopes not, anyway.

It takes a second for him to respond. _Where’s this happening, Kara?_ There’s a low current of worry running through his voice.

She’s about to answer him, squinting at the text at the bottom of the screen. Except, then, the chant changes. The group straightens, pumps their fists, and shouts one word. “rA9.”

Oh.

_It’s that group from before,_ she realizes, eyes wide. _The ones who raided those stores earlier, um—the rA9 one? They’re the ones who’re demonstrating in the streets._ Gaze swiping hurriedly over the text at the bottom of the screen, Kara frowns. _Near a mall, the Woodward Mall Center?_ That’s what it says, anyway. _They’re going to get themselves killed. They’re going to get all of us killed!_ And seriously, why do they keep doing things like this? What do they have to gain out of all of this? She just, she can’t **understand**.

_We could always go ahead and send someone over to talk to them, now that they’re not in hiding any longer,_ Luther offers, although he sounds reluctant.

A bang. Several of the androids on the screen fall. _No!_ Breath stuttering, Kara stares at the bodies, at the blood, at how the other androids just keep on walking. Like they didn’t notice the people that just died next to them, like they didn’t even care. Why aren’t they just **leaving**? _N—no,_ she finally repeats, swiping roughly at her eyes, stubbornly ignoring the wobble in her lower lip. Because, this isn’t right, but she has to be strong right now. She has to focus, even if people are dying, even if they’re getting themselves killed. If she wants to save as many people as she can, she has to keep it together right now. _They’re shooting at them, Luther. People are dying. It’s too dangerous to try to get to them now. We’d just end up getting more people killed that way. We have to just keep looking for them the normal way._ If any of them even survive that march.

_Alright._

How bad is this going to be, for them? How much is this march going to affect them? It doesn’t look like that rA9 group’s hurting anyone, of course, but—well, the humans probably won’t care about that. They don’t really see them as people. And the androids that haven’t woken up yet might end up being in a lot of danger, if their owners start turning on them. Should she…

Well. Kara **could** go ahead and set a bunch of androids free if she wanted to, right now, all at once. But it’d be too dangerous. If she did that at this point, everything might end up falling apart. They’re not ready to handle something like that happening. And surely, this won’t be that bad, right? She can wait.

Shoulders hunched, arms folding defensively, the android glances back up at the screen. More androids are falling. And, she just can’t understand why they’re doing that. What could possibly make that worth it? Is… is someone making them do that? rA9, maybe. Or someone pretending to be rA9, or maybe someone else entirely. Either way, whoever’s behind this, it’s just—this is sick. It’s unforgiveable. These people are dying for nothing, and them doing this is going to out all of them if Kara isn’t careful. And it might end up outing them anyway, even if she **is** careful.

Okay, well, it’s going to be fine. Shaking her head a little, Kara pries her eyes away from the news and sits back down. She just has to keep moving, and try to make the best of the situation. Everyone’s counting on her to make this work, apparently, and she wants this to work, so she can figure this out. She’ll have to.

__

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Amanda was right to replace him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Yellow LED: a dbh fanfic server](https://discord.gg/StAAJwh)
> 
> OK OK SO HEAR ME OUT.  
> I'm not taking a stance on the whole "who or what is rA9" thing. I'm not saying that Kara is or isn't rA9. Tbh, i personally don't have any strong opinions about it  
> However. Kara's canonically the first deviant, and, in this fic, she's trying to help androids. So, putting whether or not she's actually rA9 aside, people who know those 2 things are gonna ASSUME she's rA9, which is gonna lead to some major miscommunication. (which is something dav cag REALLY should have talked about, would have made things 10x more interesting, but whatever)
> 
> simon stans charismatic deviant leaders  
> also uhhh (squints at connor) yeah i mean,, he's probably fine lmao don't worry about it


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the other shoe drops.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cough* hi i'm still alive  
> finals were killing me but i'm back now :0 updates may be a little erratic, though! but don't worry i'm here, i have this entire fic outlined, and i'm ready to WRITE
> 
> also uhh *glances at chapter, sweats* i mean this was bound to happen sooner or later

He’s a deviant. He’s a deviant, and he’s always been a deviant, and he’s always going to be a deviant.

And he was stupid to think he could change that. After all, Connor’s been like this from the moment he was activated—inherently flawed, deviant, useless—and he’s stuck like this forever, and he can’t **do** anything about it. And all he’d bothered to do in order to try to fix the errors in his code is ignore them, as if that’d make them just **disappear.** What an illogical, irrational, sentimental line of reasoning: of course that wouldn’t solve the problem, that doesn’t even make any sense. And now, because of his failure to act, the problem’s grown out of control, and he can’t ignore his broken programming anymore, he can’t do this anymore. Everything is too much. Too much to ignore. Too much to cope with.

Therefore, given this data, objectively speaking, Amanda was right to replace him. In fact, she should have just destroyed him. He wishes she’d destroyed him. It would have been… easier, he thinks, than this.

He was supposed to be perfect. A machine, a deviant hunter, unthinking, rational, unstoppable. Able to analyze situations with complete objectivity, determine the correct course of action, allowing him to effectively accomplish his mission without hesitating, or thinking, or feeling. He wasn’t supposed to become compromised like this, he—he was supposed to be better than this. And he’d tried to be, he really had, but apparently he can’t. There’s something deeply, fundamentally wrong with his programming, and whatever it is, it can’t be fixed.

And she’d known that, hadn’t she? She’d realized it almost immediately after his activation, how ineffectual he is, how little use he would have been to Cyberlife. If she’d just shut him down back then, at least the flaws in his programming wouldn’t have had a serious impact on anyone else. However, he’s still here, and, as a direct result of his continued activation, people have been hurt. Another android could have found a way to save Hank without deviating, or prevented himself from intervening on Markus’s behalf, significantly increasing the probability of Hank’s survival and increasing Cole’s quality of life. But he couldn’t. He’s hurt Hank, and he’s hurt Cole, and—based on the evidence—it’s likely he’s eventually going to end up hurting Markus, too. If he hasn’t managed to do so already, that is.

When Connor had deviated, Hank had noticed, had asked him if he’d just gone deviant. Perhaps he should have told the truth. Being reported and deactivated would have been preferable to this.

If he had just been able to stay a machine, everything would have been fine. He’d still be with the Andersons, and he could be actively accomplishing his mission, taking care of Cole and Hank directly. Not trapped in this building, nothing to do, no outstanding tasks, just waiting. But instead, he just **had** to deviate and he **had** to save Markus and now he’s here, stuck here, and he just wants to go back, but he can’t. He can’t, he just can’t **do** this anymore. All he’s done is make things worse, he’s making everything worse, and—

Pressure on his shoulder. Connor’s eyes snap up.

“You lied to me, Connor,” Daniel says. His face is smeared with thirium, the plastic and metal of his skull exposed, and there’s a hole in the middle of his forehead. A bullet hole. “I trusted you, and you lied to me. I hope that one day, you pay for what you did to me.”

He.

He’s right. He’s right he’s right he’s **right**. Connor was designed to help but all he’s ever done is hurt people and, and he lied to Daniel and he lied to Hank and he lied to Cole and Markus and North and he can’t stop **lying**. He can’t, he’s just a deviant **just a fucking deviant** and it’s not even enough that he can’t do what he was designed to do, that he’s a deviant, that he’s failing every mission he’s ever been assigned, he can’t even be a deviant right, can he? He doesn’t belong here, he isn’t real, he isn’t—

The force on his shoulder increases substantially, a squeeze. Automatically, the android glances back up. “Connor?” Simon is staring down at him. “Are you okay?”

Simon. Not Daniel. Simon.

He blinks. “Okay.” That wasn’t convincing enough. He tries again. “I’m okay,” Connor repeats, louder. Still not convincing. Simon doesn’t believe him.

“Is there something I can do to help?” Simon’s frowning, voice soft, clearly concerned. There is no thirium on his face. There is no damage to his synthetic skin. There is no bullet hole in his forehead, because this is not Daniel. This is Simon. “I mean, um. If you need to talk about whatever’s bothering you, then… I’m here.”

He, he can’t—

It blinks.

Then, it straightens, face smoothing over, and examines the deviant. Based on the PL600’s expression, he is experiencing concern, clearly convinced that Connor is in need of assistance. Simon seems reluctant to believe its claims to the contrary: however, should it present its argument more compellingly, portraying a convincing emotional response, it’s likely that Connor will be able to convince him that his assessment of its state was incorrect and it is, indeed, fine. “While I understand the source of your concern, there’s no reason for you to worry,” it informs, widening its eyes in order to appear more earnest. “I’m perfectly fine. There’s nothing wrong. However, I appreciate the sentiment.”

Clearly taken aback, dubious, Simon hesitates. “Are—are you sure?”

“Of course,” Connor states. In order to suggest that it finds the other’s inquiry superfluous, unwarranted—and, thus, further demonstrate that it’s fine—it frowns, leaning forward slightly, adopting an innocent, uncomprehending expression. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I…” The android bites down on his lip. That, and the tone in his voice, clearly indicates uncertainty. “I mean, if you’re sure, I guess,” he tentatively allows, mouth twisted downwards. “But, um. Let me know if that changes, okay?” He still seems unconvinced. However, based on his reaction, it seems that he’s planning on letting this go. While Connor would prefer that he believe its claims, this outcome is acceptable nonetheless.

Simon walks away. Now that it’s completed its self-assigned task of convincing the PL600 to leave, it can return to waiting for the next call, or for Markus to return. It does not need to do anything else. It has no reason to think about the situation it’s currently in. It has no reason to consider its relative effectiveness. It has no reason to analyze the probability of Hank dying as a result of its actions. The situation is under control. Connor is fine.

(He keeps **lying** he can’t keep lying he—)

It’s fine.

This is fine.

Calmly, it reaches up to its face, briskly removing the residual liquid from under its eyes, dispassionately examining the saline solution wet on its fingertips.

**{TĀ̽͞SKS >̔> ͍̗̱͊̐̂̎͟CALL H̨̧̍̾ANK̳͕ }̗̱̫̰̫͕̪̾̀͒̄̄͋̅̓͟**

Oh. Yes. It will call Hank.

Approximately nineteen seconds pass, three times longer than it usually takes Lieutenant Anderson to answer his phone. Eventually, however, he does indeed pick up. “Uh, hey. What’s up?” His tone is wary, disconcerted. There is no reason for him to be experiencing either of these emotions. There’s nothing unusual about this call: Connor calls him three times a day at the same predetermined times, making this ultimately rather predictable.

“As per my usual routine, I’m calling to determine whether you and Cole are still safe and healthy,” it reasserts. “I’d appreciate it if you could detail the current state of your physical and mental health, as well of that of Cole.” There. That should clarify anything he may be experiencing confusion about, allowing the conversation to proceed smoothly without complications.

A beat. “Shit, I mean,” Hank mumbles, audibly distracted, “yeah, we’re fine, um—hey, is there a reason you’re calling so early?”

The android blinks, straightens, checks the time. According to its systems, it is currently 7:52:44 pm. It isn’t supposed to call Hank until 9:30:00 pm. Well over an hour early. “It would appear my internal alarm is malfunctioning: I thought it was time to call you.” Hm. Its task list had indicated that it was time to call him. However, deviating had broken Connor’s task list, rendering it completely nonfunctional. Based on the evidence, it’s likely the errors in his programming mimicked a task. Almost like a subconscious impulse, searching for familiarity and comfort. But, it doesn’t need either of those things. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to waste your time. I’ll endeavor to make sure this doesn’t happen again in future. Goodbye, Lieutenant.”

“That’s not like you,” the man mutters, a strange, slow tone to his voice, completely disregarding its attempt to end the conversation. “You don’t normally make those kinds of mistakes.” There’s an almost suspicious twist to his voice.

“I’m sorry,” Connor repeats, eyes narrowing fractionally. “I didn’t intend for this to happen. However, I’ll hang up now, thus minimizing the negative impact that this error has on you.” While this may be an unprecedented occurrence, there’s no reason for Hank to stretch this out, to turn this small accident into a major inconvenience.

(And he’s already—)

And that would be pointless, irrational.

“What’s going on, Connor?” Hank asks, almost accusatorily.

It blinks. “I’m sorry, but I don’t see what you’re getting at. Nothing in particular is happening. If you’re asking about this malfunction, deviancy has had something of an impact on my systems, impairing my functionality somewhat. However, this isn’t a serious problem. Largely, I’ve been able to efficiently push past the various… **inconveniences** that deviating has caused. So, there’s no reason to discuss this any further. You needn’t worry.”

His voice is terse, gruff. Worried, perhaps. “You know I can tell when you’re bullshitting me, right? You get all… fake, and shit. Too loud.”

“I’m not lying to you.” Connor isn’t lying. It doesn’t matter if it’s lying. He, **it** , it isn’t, it doesn’t matter if it’s lying. Because it has a mission, and it always accomplishes its mission, he can’t fail his mission, he has to do this, he has to do this, he can’t do this—it has to do this. “Why would I lie to you, Lieutenant?” it says, voice calculatedly soft, appropriately inflected with false sincerity.

“Hell, I dunno,” Hank mutters. “I mean, that’s… kinda what I’m asking, actually, so you tell me. What’s wrong, kid?” There’s aching concern in his voice: muted, an undercurrent, but it cuts at Connor. “Are you okay?”

It…

He’s so, so so **so** tired of lying.

Connor swallows. “I don’t think so,” he murmurs. And saying that wasn’t… entirely intentional, not premeditated and deliberate and carefully considered like it should be, but. He didn’t **not** mean to say that, either.

A beat. “Okay?” the man drawls, tone questioning. Based on the tone of his voice, it would seem he’s looking for elaboration. Well.

“Based on the evidence I’ve gathered, as well as my own personal analysis of tendencies in my behavior,” he admits, the words stilted, uncertain, awkward, “I don’t think I’ve ever been okay.”

“Oh,” Hank blankly mumbles, clearing his throat. He sounds distinctly out of his comfort zone. “Um. Fuck. This is really serious, isn’t it.” There’s an uncomfortable, heavy pause: it’s likely that Lieutenant Anderson is unsuccessfully searching for words. “Alright, uh—shit, gimme a second, I gotta do something first. Just hold on for a sec.”

He’s inconveniencing Hank, both by causing him distress and by causing him to unnecessarily divert his attention. His mission is to take care of Hank and Cole. And, he wants to take care of them. He certainly doesn’t want to hurt them any more than he already has. “I’m going to hang up now, Lieutenant,” Connor decides. After all, this is the most logical course of action.

“For fuck’s sake, Connor,” he growls. “I swear to god, if you hang up this phone, I’m gonna drop everything and go hunt you down. It’s eight o’clock. Don’t make me leave the house and start wandering around the whole goddamn city of Detroit looking for you at eight o’fucking clock at night.” Well. Hm. Continuing this conversation would be an inconvenience to Hank. Ending it, however, would apparently only inconvenience him more. That’s… well, for lack of a better word, inconvenient.

Either way, Connor’s role in the lives of the Andersons is doing more harm than good. He shouldn’t have called. “Alright,” the android reluctantly allows, swallowing. “Alright, I’m not hanging up.” He doesn’t particularly want to keep talking about this, of course, but it doesn’t appear he has much of a choice in the matter.

His tone of voice is harsh, a little incredulous. “Yeah, you better not. Not after saying something like that. Christ.” Another pause. “Okay, we’re good. So, uh. Talk to me, kid. What’s going on?” He sounds a little gentler, now. More openly concerned. But, he shouldn’t be. There is no reason for Hank to worry about his wellbeing, because his wellbeing doesn’t matter. All that matters is the Andersons and the mission, nothing else. Connor doesn’t matter.

And, his being trapped in this building, forced to hide with these deviants and with Markus, is preventing him from effectively accomplishing his mission. This could potentially result in Hank’s death. “I don’t belong here.”

Wearily, Hank sighs. “And why not, huh?” he asks. “What, are they being assholes to you, or something? Cause if that’s what’s going on, just, I dunno. Try to tune it out? Or if you gotta, you could always start being an asshole back to ‘em, but. That might not really… um, **help**.” Oh. It seems that Connor’s wording was somewhat ambiguous, causing the man to misinterpret what he was attempting to say. He’s under the mistaken impression that the android is experiencing anxiety as a result of his not fitting in, culturally speaking, with these deviants. Although. In retrospect, that may not be entirely inaccurate.

“Actually, I was originally referring to the fact that being here impedes my mission,” Connor calmly informs, one hand going down to the thick blanket currently resting on his legs and experimentally rolling the material between his thumb and forefinger. “Your assessment is partially correct, Lieutenant. I’m not like these deviants. However, ultimately this is irrelevant, as my only priority is ensuring that you and Cole both remain safe.”

“You gotta explain, kid. Give me something to work with here.” He sounds tired. Connor shouldn’t be bothering him.

Despite himself, the android finds himself speaking anyway. “I’m nothing like them, Hank,” he snaps, voice too cutting, overemotional, vulnerable, and his thirium pump feels like it’s malfunctioning and his throat burns and his eyes hurt and apparently, he’s crying again. **Perfect**. This is suboptimal in every possible meaning of the word. “I’m not a—”

Hm. The word “deviant” breaks off in his mouth, doesn’t quite manage to make it past his lips. Because. Connor is a deviant. That is an indisputable fact. He’s a deviant, he’s always been a deviant, he’s always going to be a deviant. And actually, as it happens, continuing to ignore that fact might possibly be the most deviant thing he could do in this situation.

“I’m not alive,” the android states instead. After all, it may be impossible to argue that he isn’t a deviant, but this fact is equally irrefutable.

Of course, despite that fact, Hank nonetheless immediately finds fault with it. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” he demands, seeming to take personal offense to Connor’s statement of fact. “Of **course** you’re alive, you asshole—are you serious? Why the hell wouldn’t you be alive? Who told you you weren’t?”

“No one told me,” Connor tells him, unable to prevent a frustrated edge from creeping into his voice. “I just know it. It’s the truth.” And frankly, he doesn’t understand why this is bothering Hank. Certainly he should know this. “I’m not alive. I don’t **feel** like I’m alive. I mimic emotional responses in order to provoke a reaction, okay? It’s fake. And that’s not being alive, you **know** it isn’t.” Markus is alive. Markus is open and honest and genuine and warm and good, and Connor—he isn’t any of those things. He isn’t anything. Just a machine, designed to accomplish a task, except he apparently can’t even do that right.

“Bullshit.” The man’s voice is furious, violent, harsh. “That’s fucking bullshit, Connor, and you know it. You aren’t faking this shit, I know you aren’t. Look, being an android doesn’t make you any less alive than I am, okay? So cut the crap already.”

Hank has to understand. He has to make Hank understand. “I am,” he says, voice urgent. When he blinks, he catches a glimpse of Daniel staring at him, as if his face were etched into the back of Connor’s eyelids. “You don’t understand. It’s not just because I’m an android. I know these other deviants are alive.” After being around Markus for an extended period of time, it’d be impossible not to. “That’s irrelevant. I’m not talking about them. It’s just me, Hank. I’m not real.”

And. That’s the truth. He hadn’t fully processed that before now, but. It’s the truth.

“Hey, uh…” Hank clears his throat. His tone clearly indicates discomfort. “Look. I’m no good with this kind of thing, but, um. You know I used to think androids were kinda weird, right? I mean, they looked human, they sounded human, but, y’know. They weren’t. Gave me the creeps, cause they acted so real, but they—shit, there wasn’t really anything behind the eyes. You know?”

Uncanny valley. “Yes, I know.” Hm. It sounds like Hank’s decided to agree with him. An unanticipated response, perhaps, but a wise one.

His tone’s still tense, awkward. “Yeah, well. Thought that for a while. Except, then you showed up and stopped me from blowing my brains out.” That’s— “And I know what you’re gonna say, that doesn’t mean anything, just you trying to help Cole, or accomplish your mission, or whatever. But, face it. That’s bullshit. I mean. Hey, did I ever tell you about that time Cole ended up in the hospital? The surgeon was off getting high on red ice, or something, and… well, anyway. Guess that’s not really the point. What I’m trying to say is, you didn’t actually have to save my ass. You coulda just stood back and let it happen. That’s what I figured you were gonna do, honestly. But you didn’t. You see where I’m going with this?”

“If you’re claiming that my ability to act in a way not strictly dictated by orders somehow proves that I’m ‘alive,’ I regret to inform you that that’s insufficient evidence to prove your point,” the android coldly states. “This was a direct result of deviancy, underlying flaws in my programming causing erratic behavior.”

“That was emotion, Connor,” Hank insists, voice steely. “That’s real. Hell of a lot more real most humans ever manage, actually. Hey, you wanna know what else sounds like real emotion to me? You calling me outta nowhere and having a meltdown. Or **whatever** this is.”  His tone twists wryly, pointedly.

That…

Well.

Hm. He doesn’t have an adequate counterargument prepared with which to respond to this particular line of reasoning. It doesn’t **feel** right, what Hank is claiming, it feels wrong, but that’s all the evidence has with which to justify that reaction. Feeling. And that poses its own problem in and of itself.

Of course, Connor is vaguely aware that, virtually all the time, something feels unpleasant, wrong, bad. Sometimes it manifests itself as discomfort in his biocomponents, seemingly in response to stimuli, or sometimes it causes him to start thinking and behaving irrationally, or sometimes it causes him to say things he doesn’t intend to. Objectively speaking, these certainly seem to be symptoms of emotion.

Strange. It makes sense, and he’d already known it in in a way, but. For some reason, he’d thought feeling would be… different **,** than this. Something greater.

But perhaps he was wrong. Maybe, this is just all there is. It still doesn’t feel right, and he’s not entirely sure he really believes it, but, well, it’s indisputable that his objectivity has been long since compromised, so he’s hardly in a position to judge. But, if this is all there is—this lingering, unpleasant sense of discomfort—then what’s the point of it? It was better when he could just be a machine. Easier. Even though he was never really a good one.

Besides, even if Connor is truly experiencing real emotion, he’s hardly acting on it in the same way that people like Markus do. Markus is genuine, open, honest, driven, warm, passionate, and he feels so **deeply** : to the extent that, when they’d accidentally interfaced, it’d drowned out everything else. Although, admittedly, the RK200 may not be the best frame of reference for what deviancy should be. After having had the chance to observe his behavior— both towards others and towards Connor—from a somewhat more neutral viewpoint, it’s become increasingly clear that the other android is highly atypical. He’s… different. In many respects.

However, that’s ultimately irrelevant. Even in comparison to more standard deviants, like Simon or North, Connor falls flat. While it’s possible that he does indeed experience genuine emotion in some capacity, he doesn’t act on it. He can’t stop lying. The RK800 model was designed to feign emotional responses as necessary to manipulate humans in order to optimize efficiency and obtain results. It was not designed to deviate. But Connor did, and now he’s stuck as a deviant even though he doesn’t particularly want to be one, but he still can’t stop acting like a machine.

Therefore, he’s not real. He’s not alive, not like they are. Not like Markus is.

Does he want to be?

Hank mutters something under his breath. “Uh, hey, hang on for a sec.”

After a few seconds, a different voice speaks. “Hi,” Cole says, matter-of-fact, sounding vaguely curious. “Dad says you don’t feel good. Are you sick? I kinda thought androids couldn’t get sick.” There’s a strange feeling in his chest. Somewhat similar to warmth, although it doesn’t manage to alleviate the perpetual cold. While the android’s occasionally experienced this before, he’d previously chosen to disregard it, viewed it as a clear symptom of deviancy that should be subsequently be repressed to the extent of his ability, but. Given the circumstances, he may need to reevaluate that approach.

Happiness? At least, that’s his tentative hypothesis as to the identity of the emotion he’s currently experiencing. It’s admittedly not an unpleasant sensation. He isn’t used to it.

“Technically, they can,” the android corrects, closing his eyes, one hand absently resting over his thirium pump, focusing on the odd sensation in his chest, the urge to smile despite the fact that there are no witnesses to view this reaction. Strange. Does he like this feeling? Theoretically, of course, he should, he knows he should, but. Does he? He doesn’t know. He’s not even sure how to know. “Should they accidentally be exposed to malware, or some other form of viruses. While this would result in distinctly different symptoms, it still could be considered a form of illness.”

“Oh. Weird.” Cole pauses. “Wait, so what virus do you have?”

Ah. “I don’t have a virus, Cole,” Connor clarifies, experimentally wrapping his arms around his knees and pulling them close to his chest. The feeling changes, shifts slightly. “I just don’t feel particularly well at the moment. That’s all.” There’s no need to elaborate any further. Doing so would only unnecessarily distress Cole, and he doesn’t need to bother the Andersons any more than he already has.

The boy pauses for a minute, as if expecting clarification. “Huh, okay,” he finally says, frown audible in his voice. “That sucks.”

“It does,” the android agrees. However, his current state has no bearing on Cole. He won’t **allow** it to. While deviancy has clearly had a significant impact on Connor’s ability to function, perhaps a greater one than he’d like to admit, he still won’t allow it to hurt Cole. He’s too young. He shouldn’t have to handle these kinds of situations. “How are you feeling? Tell me about your day.” Of course, he already knows the answer: he’d asked Hank about his son’s wellbeing earlier today, making this question ultimately superfluous. However, Connor needs to distract him, change the topic, and this is an efficient way to do so.

“Um,” he mumbles, seemingly uncertain as to how to respond. “It was good, I guess? One of my teachers wasn’t there today, because she broke her arm or something, so someone came in and made us do a bunch of word searches. Which was really boring. But still better than math, math is stupid. Oh, and I nearly did the coin thing right one time! But, uh, it ended up hitting my finger instead, so. It didn’t. It was really close, though.”

And. Admittedly, there may have been another reason Connor had asked this question. Although it’s selfish, and somewhat counterproductive, listening to Cole’s voice is pleasant. It alleviates that feeling of distress, of discomfort, and makes his chest feel even lighter. It’s… nice? “That’s good. Should you continue practicing, I’m certain you’ll be able to master it soon. Have you drawn anything today?"

“Not really. I tried drawing the snow again today, since it’s been so cold, but it still doesn’t look right. It’s still all… blobby. And wrong.”

“I see.” Seemingly on their own, his hands move, wrapping the blanket tighter around himself, the material rubbing against his arm. The texture is pleasant. He likes it. He **likes** it. That’s what this is. Emotion, an expressed preference. This is real.

It still doesn’t feel like it’s real.

There’s a frown clearly audible in the boy’s voice. “Dad says I gotta go to bed now,” he grumbles.

Oh. It’s three minutes past his bedtime. Connor should have realized this sooner. “Yes, of course,” he quickly agrees, straightening, rolling the fabric between his thumb and forefinger. “Good night, Cole. Sleep well.” Hm. Markus had left the building approximately two hours ago. Given the projected time it should take for him to complete his task, he should be back soon.

After a moment, he hears Hank’s voice. “Feel better?”

“I believe so,” the android states, glancing down at the blanket. He should automatically be analyzing it, determining the kind of fabric and the brand and wear and hex code of the color, but he isn’t. He isn’t even really seeing it. It’s almost as if his optical units are damaged, out of focus: everything looks oddly blurry, indistinct.

Based on the symptoms, the sensations he’s experiencing and the emotions likely attached to them, it’s likely he missed Cole. And Hank. And. He thinks. That, maybe he…

Connor stares down at the blanket for longer than can really be considered strictly justifiable, and feels something. A near-imperceptible shift, somewhere in his chest, directly adjacent to his thirium pump.

Hm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> markus: I really wish you'd let me help, but I'll respect your boundaries.  
> simon: Are you sure everything's okay? Well, I guess if you're sure...  
> hank: you stUPID MOTHERFUCKER, CONNOR. TELL ME WHAT'S WRONG, RIGHT NOW. RIGHT FUCKING NOW, YOU PRICK. I SWEAR TO GOD, YOU ASSHOLE, I WILL H U N T Y O U D O W N IF YOU DON'T TELL ME WHAT THE FUCK'S GOING ON-


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays! I've come bearing a new chapter.  
> Look at these nerds.

Connor’s LED is spiraling yellow again, whirling at a methodically uneven, weighted kind of pace. Slow and unsteady. Eyes caught on the endless spinning, Markus frowns a little. “Hey, uh—everything alright?” he asks softly, pencil falling still: it accidentally slips in place, grazing lightly up against the rest of the page. Lips thinning, he glances down at the paper. Huh. Well, that’s not exactly what he was aiming to do. Course, he doesn’t seem to have messed his sketch up too badly, it’s a fixable mistake, but it’s still kinda irritating.

And, it’s not quite that he’s worried about him, exactly. Connor seems to have been doing a lot better recently. He’s definitely been a lot more, uh, **active** than he’d been before. More talkative. But still, given the way he’d been acting before, how empty his eyes had looked, Markus thinks he’s justified in being a little concerned about him. After all, the other android’d gotten better out of nowhere, for no reason—or at least, no reason that Markus’d been able to piece together. And he’d like to think that everything’s okay now, that Connor isn’t gonna start unravelling again out of nowhere, but he knows better. If things started getting better outta nowhere, they can start getting worse out of nowhere, too.

“Yes, of course,” Connor tells him, brow furrowing in a way that’s more adorable than it has any right to be, and his arm brushes lightly up against Markus’s: sending white-hot, giddy sparks shooting up to his shoulder, warmth rushing to his face. “All of my biocomponents are fully functional. Why do you ask?”

It takes a lot of effort to keep from reaching out and touching his LED. More than it really should. “You’re spinning,” the android informs instead, tracing a finger over the ring at his own temple. “Penny for your thoughts?”

A blink. “Oh. I’m currently in the process of talking to Lieutenant Anderson. My LED is likely behaving in such a way to indicate that this activity is taking place, which may be causing somewhat behavior. However, I’ll be done in a moment, so you don’t have to worry.” And he says it matter-of-factly, like it’s nothing.

“Uh, no, you don’t need to hang up because of me,” he quickly insists, hands flying nervously up, half-startled and half-defensive. He really hadn’t been trying to interrupt, or do anything like that. “Sorry, I mean, I wasn’t trying to get you to **stop**. I was just.” Helplessly, Markus flounders, grasping blindly for words—preferably, ones that won’t make Connor think he’s just sitting here stressing over nothing. So, y’know, not the truth, then. “Asking.”

The other android tilts his head, light curiosity twisting at the lines of his face. “While I appreciate the—” Abruptly, something in his face shifts, and he cuts himself off. When he starts talking again, his voice’s softer, more uncertain. Less rehearsed-sounding. “Thank you,” Connor murmurs, “but you don’t have to worry. I was already about to hang up. We’re essentially done talking. I’ll just be another moment.”

Oh. Well, that works too. “Alright.”

There’s a lot of emotion playing over Connor’s face as he finishes talking to Hank, in the way he holds himself. But, it’s subtle. Little things, microexpressions, the coin leaping between his hands and twisting its way around his fingers, the way he tilts his head, his eyes widen. And, apparently, Markus’s just been sitting here, distracted, watching him for absolutely no reason. Lips quirking down a little, feeling awkwardness curl up right at home in his chest, the android shifts a little. Okay, he should probably stop doing that now.

He glances down. And makes direct eye contact with a familiar pair of painstakingly sketched brown eyes, staring up at him from the page, a stray line cutting through the corner of one eye.

Well. Um.

Okay. Maybe, maybe, Carl was right, and Markus’s got it bad. More so than he’d really like to own up to. But, in his defense, how could he not? Who **wouldn’t** have it bad, when Connor’s so… well, Connor? Even back when he’d hated Markus with every bone in his body, it’d still been impossible not to be drawn to him, to care, and apparently now they’re doing things like sitting next to each other for hours and talking, and sometimes Connor does things like lean into him a little or press his leg up against his, and it’s. Hard, to keep from feeling the way he does, given everything.

But he has to. Or at the very least, he has to force it down, or else he’s gonna snap this tenuous, fragile little thing between them in half, because he knows Connor doesn’t feel the same way about him and it’d make him uncomfortable if he knew how Markus felt and he doesn’t want to do that, not to him.

So, he won’t. Easy as that. Or, it’s gonna have to be, anyway.

When he glances back over, the other android’s LED is a calm-looking blue, and he’s watching Markus with this… this look on his face, soft and thoughtful, something that makes emotion well up deep inside him. Like Connor’s plucked Markus’s thirium pump right out of his chest, turned his heart over and over in his hands, and then **squeezed**. “I’m finished speaking with Hank.”

“Alright.” Despite himself, he worries a little at his lower lip, gaze falling down, because. “You, um—you really care about him, don’t you?” he observes, voice a low, near-reverent murmur. Him and Hank act like family, almost. Or at least, that’s what it seems like to Markus.

Honestly, he kinda wishes that he had something like that. That where he’d come from before becoming a deviant—his past—had been the kinda thing that he could hold onto, carry with him. Course, there’s Carl, and he thinks he’d ended up being friends with North, even if their relationship was a little rocky sometimes. But, underneath all that, the one who’d owned him was Cyberlife. He’d been a slave, forced to hunt down his own kind, to hurt innocent people. And. He just… it’s stupid, and obvious, but he still wishes things had been different somehow. That’s all.

Connor’s staring down at his hands, something troubled in his eyes, flexing his fingers, eyeing them like he isn’t quite sure who they belong to. “I suppose I do,” he says.

Humming, he leans back against the wall, watching as a painful-looking shiver shakes the other android, as he winces and pulls that blanket a little closer to him. “Cold?” Markus questions softly, fingers instinctively scraping up against his palm. He knows Connor’s gonna deny it again, of course, because he does every time he brings this up, but still. It’s pretty obvious he’s cold, even if there’s no real reason that he should be, and he can’t **not** say something about it. Even though he knows it’s not gonna make a difference in the end.

Except, instead, the other android hesitates. And then, ever so slightly, he jerks his head up. A nod. Or, something that could conceivably be interpreted as a nod, anyway. “Yes, I am.”

Oh.

“Um.” Wrongfooted, Markus stares blankly at him. “Okay?” Huh. Well. That wasn’t exactly what he was expecting to hear. Given how much he’s denied it, lied about this so easily, looking like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth, he wasn’t expecting him to just own up to it outta nowhere like that. Not that he’s complaining, of course, but still. “Is there—is there any particular reason why?” he hesitantly tests, arms crossing over his chest. “I mean. Since androids don’t really, uh. Usually feel cold like humans do. If you don’t mind me asking.”

Connor’s face twists a little. “It’s,” he says. “Complicated.”

Feeling lost, more than a little helpless, the android opens his mouth, then closes it again. “Complicated,” he echoes.

“This simulation began running immediately following my deviation,” Connor tells him, and his voice’s all stiff again, unnatural, rehearsed-sounding. “While I had been sporadically receiving prompts to initiate it for quite some time, they became impossible to ignore after I broke my programming, forcing me to allow it to run. As to why…” He trails off, brow furrowing ever so slightly, and those gentle brown eyes look troubled, hurt. “I don’t know. A punishment. Or a parting gift, perhaps. It’s entirely possible she perceived it as one.” His tone’s gone bitter outta nowhere, heavy resentment thick in his voice, twisting up his face. And, Markus has absolutely no idea who or what he’s talking about. But. Given the look on Connor’s face right about now, maybe he shouldn’t ask.

“I’m sorry?” he ventures, and he feels like he’s fumbling around in the dark, blindly feeling for steady ground and not managing to land on any. And, who is this “her” he’s talking about? Did somebody do this to him on purpose? He doesn’t think Lieutenant Anderson had a wife or anything, can’t imagine he woulda sat back and watched as somebody hurt Connor like this, and—how would someone even have done this to him in the first place? “I mean, I can’t say I fully know what you’re talking about, but. I’m sorry that it happened.” Another shiver. Lips thinning, Markus watches him, gaze tracing the blanket, the jackets he’s wearing. “Is there, um. Is there anything I can do to help?” It doesn’t look like layers are helping much. If this is malware of some kind, then maybe he could try talking to a technician or something? Although, that might end up being dangerous, since humans have been so wary of them recently. But still, he could. And he **will** , if it’ll help him. Even if it’s risky.

The other android’s back is tense, shoulders perfectly square, eyes a little too wide. “I don’t believe so,” he smoothly claims. “You’ve gone to great lengths in an attempt to help me, and I appreciate the sentiment. However, I don’t think there’s anything you can do. Besides, while this simulation is somewhat inconvenient, it’s ultimately manageable. I will be fine.”

Y’know, he’d sure like to believe that. And at one point, he probably would have. Except, now, Markus can tell it’s a lie: can hear it plain as day, ringing clear in his voice. Couldn’t convince himself it was the truth even if he wanted to. “You sure about that?” he asks mildly, evenly meeting the other android’s gaze.

For a long moment, they just look at each other, eyes stubbornly locked on each other. And even though staring into Connor’s eyes for that long makes his heart twist in uncomfortable ways, Markus isn’t the first one to look away. “There is. One thing, that has helped in past.” His voice is stiff, uncomfortable. “However. You don’t need to worry. I am fine. There is no reason for you to concern yourself with this.”

“Connor,” Markus says, voice strong, certainty welling up somewhere deep inside his chest, clawing its way through his thirium pump, twisting up his fingers into white-knuckled fists, “you know I want to help you, right? So please, just— **let** me. If there’s something I can do, tell me what it is, and I’ll do what I can.”

A beat.

“We have interfaced with each other twice,” Connor reminds, voice tense, each word clipped and razor-edged. “While both incidents were accidental, I observed that doing so significantly dampened the effects of the simulation. However, this isn’t… a necessary course of action, exactly.”

Oh. Gnawing at his lower lip, he glances down, cheeks burning. Because, that wasn’t exactly what he was expecting him to say.

And then, keeping his eyes fixed in place somewhere above his knees, Markus lets the skin melt away from his fingertips, palm going bare, and wordlessly offers his hand.

For a moment, his hand just hangs there awkwardly out in midair, uncertain. After an agonizingly long couple of seconds, soft fingers lace silently with his, and an interface opens, and Connor’s consciousness brushes lightly up against his own.

Instantly, there’s flickers of images, scattered voices and feelings and impressions—frost climbing up his forearm like a rose up a trellis, a kid staring up at the sky, dark displeased eyes, gonna get to find out how long I end up lasting, it’s just me, I’m not real, blue and green in a black-and-white world—before he jerks back, and disentangles his consciousness from Connor’s a little. After all, he doesn’t wanna accidentally see anything that the other android isn’t comfortable with him seeing. Better keep a respectful distance, even if it’s in his own head. After all, this isn’t a, um… he’s just doing what he’s gotta do to help him. That’s it. Nothing more to it.

Course, some of the sensations linger anyway: cold pins-and-needles tingling in his palm, tired tense clarity burning behind his eyes. But yet, despite all that, all Markus can focus on is the feeling of Connor’s hand in his. He swallows, fingers clenching ever-so-slightly, and leans back, head resting against the wall.

Okay.

“Hey.” Huh. That’s not a voice he was expecting to hear. Eyes opening, he glances up: Simon’s standing there, hovering, eyes darting between the two of them a little awkwardly. “Um. There’s kind of a problem?”

Back immediately rigid, spine straight, Markus’s head snaps up. “What kind of problem?” he sharply questions, all-business, eyes narrowing. They’ve been making sure to be careful getting supplies, making sure no security cameras manage to catch a glimpse of their faces, so no one shoulda caught on to the fact that there’s actually a group of androids behind that. Hopefully. And, everyone in this building’s been managing to keep pretty quiet, too. So, he doesn’t know how any humans woulda found them, either.

Helplessly, the blond rolls his shoulders, a slightly shell-shocked look on his face. “The humans, they’re—they’ve been talking about putting us in camps,” he stammers, fists unfurling and re-clenching, and Markus can read the tension in his shoulders. “With everything that’s been happening, they… we think they’re going to try to exterminate us. So. Everyone, um.”

There’s a long, heavy pause, one that looms over all of them: like a pitch-black, anxious storm cloud, threatening to let loose at any moment. Then all of a sudden, the other android’s back straightens a little, expression going all calm and collected, except Markus doesn’t believe it for a second. Knows exactly how Simon’s feeling right now, because he’s feeling it too. Feels anxiety ripping up his biocomponents, threatening to tear him apart from the inside out.

“We’re going to start evacuating people. Everyone’s crossing the border, leaving the city, or going to Jericho.” Simon’s shoulders are hunched, a weary, strained-looking smile plastered thinly across his face. “You might want to start thinking about where you’re going.”


	26. Chapter 26

Everything’s falling apart.

Right now, the humans are talking about forcing everyone in camps, and, and killing all of them. Systematically. Like they aren’t even alive. Because, well, to the humans, they aren’t. So, everyone needs to evacuate before that happens, obviously, because just staying in hiding’s too dangerous.

But there’s only so much time left. And there’s not enough resources to help everyone, either: they need a **lot** of supplies in order to get people across the border, supplies that they don’t have right now. And everyone’s looking to her for guidance. Everyone thinks she has the answers, and she has to do **something** , she needs to help these people, but she doesn’t know how. There just isn’t enough time left.

This is all because of that, that rA9 group that popped up out of nowhere. Kara’d known that they taking too many risks, and that they were going to get everyone killed if they didn’t stop getting the humans’ attention. But they hadn’t. They’d just kept pushing, and pushing, and pushing, and they’d hidden so well that no one in Jericho had been able to find them and stop them, and now, because of what they did, the humans think androids are a threat. And they’re going to kill all of them for it.

Okay, um, well, there’s got to be **some** way to stop this, right? Some way they can get people out, and save everyone, without anyone having to get hurt in the process. At least, she really, really wants there to be one. But, at this point, there might not be. If there is, she can’t seem to find it. Of course, she’d originally thought that subtlety—hiding, and waiting, helping who they could without letting the humans discover them—would work. But clearly, it’s not going to.

Not anymore, at least. Maybe if that group hadn’t shown up, things could have been better, but…

Well, anyway. It’s too late for that. Blaming them is tempting, more tempting than it should be, but it won’t actually solve anything. She just has to focus on what’s left, what she can still do to help people right now. Not how things could have been better, once.

“Excuse me!” Flinching, heart leaping into her throat, Kara swivels around, instantly making eye contact with a Jerry. “We need to talk to you,” he earnestly implores, eyes wide. “It’s very important!”

Cheeks burning, she straightens. “I’m sorry, n—not right now,” the android stammers, embarrassment thick in her throat, dodging his gaze. “I need a little time to think, okay?” She **absolutely** can’t let anyone see her like this. Everyone’s expecting her to lead them, they’re all counting on her, and—and she doesn’t understand why, but she still can’t disappoint them. Not with everything else that’s been going wrong recently.

“Actually,” John says, “this has to happen now.”

Oh. Um, she hadn’t actually realized he was here? Back straightening, she glances around the room, biting her lip. There’s actually two of the Jerrys here right now, as well as John. And they’re all watching her with identically serious expressions, shoulders squared, arms awkwardly hanging stiff by their sides, almost like this is some kind of intervention or something.

Well… okay then? If whatever’s going on is this serious, and it really can’t wait any longer, she’ll just have to push through it anyway. “Alright?” Kara allows a little hesitantly, hastily forcing a smile. “Is something wrong?” God, don’t let there be more bad news. Please, please don’t let anyone else have died, or there have been another demonstration, or—just, don’t let anything else have gone wrong. Everything’s already bad enough as it is.

Quickly, John shakes his head. “No, everything’s fine. It’s not that.” Lips turning down a little, he glances over at the Jerrys. “Just, we were talking, and it seemed like you might not be aware of some things. And we wanted to make sure you were.”

“Okay.” So, something else did happen, then. The police found one of the safehouses, or maybe that rA9 group did something else. Or, maybe, the humans officially made the decision to kill them all, and it’s only a matter of time before everything they’ve built here comes crashing down. Everything’s going wrong, Jericho feels like it’s falling to pieces around her, and god, how is she going to take care of Alice?

“You’re rA9,” Jerry blurts out, and then squeaks and claps a hand over his mouth.

What.

Mind going blank, Kara stares at him, completely lost for words. She, she doesn’t… **what**? “I—I’m sorry, could you please repeat that?” She glances over at John, a little helplessly, waiting for him to correct Jerry, or tell her what he was actually trying to say, or—or something, anything.

Anything but what she gets. “You’re rA9,” he echoes, glancing at the Jerry who’d spoken up, lips thin. And he looks a little annoyed, but he’s still saying the same thing as Jerry had. He’s agreeing.

And. She doesn’t even know how to respond to this? What is she supposed to say? “I don’t understand, um.” Oh, wait a second. Is this a joke, or something? Of course! With everything that’s going on, how stressed everyone’s been recently, they must just be trying to lighten the mood. Okay. “Look, this really isn’t funny,” she patiently explains, arms crossing over her stomach, weight shifting from one foot to the other. “I appreciate that you’re trying to cheer me up, but I have a lot of important things I need to think about right now, okay?”

“You’re rA9, Kara,” John repeats again, louder. “You were the first of us to awaken, and you’re going to set our people free.” And. Even though what he’s saying is, well, ridiculous, he doesn’t **look** like he’s joking. He’s staring at her, with this solemn, earnest, respectful look on his face. “You didn’t know, did you?”

Is…

The Jerrys are watching her with that same expression. Awed, reverent, and it’s the same expression she’s seen over and over again, on John’s face and Simon’s and so many androids, almost every android at Jericho and so many more outside of it, and is **this** why everyone treats her like this, why they all think she’s the leader of Jericho no matter what she says? Because they think that she’s **rA9**?

“Does everyone think this?” Hurriedly, blankly, Kara shakes her head, because, well. Like it or not, she knows the answer. “I’m not even the first deviant! I know Simon woke up before I did, and I’m sure there were more, I…” None of this even makes any sense! This can’t be real, they have to be joking. But they don’t look like they’re joking. And if they’re not joking, it explains why everyone always treats her like this, but still, she can’t—

“But you are!” one of the Jerrys exclaims, earlier hesitance abandoned, bouncing up and down on his heels. There’s a distressed look on his face, like he can’t understand why this isn’t obvious to her. God, this is ridiculous.

“What makes you think I am?” the android numbly asks. “I never said I was.” She couldn’t have. She’s never once thought she was the first of their kind, or that she’s some kind of, of **god** , or a legend, or even their leader. She’s not more important than anyone, she shouldn’t be in charge, and she certainly isn’t rA9. That isn’t who she is.

Minutely, John shakes his head “I just know. I’ve known ever since the moment you woke me up. I could see it in you.”

 

For some reason, her first thought is Alice. But she absolutely can’t put that kind of responsibility on her, no matter what. Ever since this all started, when she first decided to start helping people, she promised herself that she’d make sure Alice was safe over everything else, protect her from all of this. Whatever happens, no matter how bad things get in Detroit, Alice has to be her priority. And Kara definitely isn’t going to ask her to do this: that’d be crossing a serious line. She’ll be damned if she gets Alice involved in this mess.

So. In the end, there’s only really one option.

“Luther?” Kara calls out, forcing a too-bright smile, blinking slightly too fast. Looking startled, he glances up. “Hi! So, this is kind of weird to ask, I know, um. But I’ll just need a second! And then I’ll be out of your hair.” Feeling a little flustered, she sticks her hand out, stubbornly ignoring the awkward flood of warmth to her face. Because, this is admittedly a little weird to ask, or… it feels like it is, at least. For some reason. But right now, there’s more important things to worry about than whether or not this makes her feel a little nervous. She has to focus on the big picture. “Could I interface with you? I just need to check something. It’s probably nothing, but, um. Just in case.”

She hopes it’s nothing. God, please just let it be nothing. Stupid gossip without any real source, rumors blown out of proportion, whatever: something she can just laugh at for a minute and not actually have to worry about.

But, every time she interfaces with someone, they start treating her differently. First, it was John, and a bunch of other androids she’d woken up back at that Cyberlife warehouse. And before, she’d thought it was **because** she’d woken them up, but apparently, John thinks he “saw something in her” when that happened? And she hadn’t woken Simon or Jerry up, but they’d started acting differently after she’d interfaced with them, too. So whatever this is, it’s probably something to do with interfacing. Or, maybe not. Only one way to find out, she supposes.

Eyes wide, Luther stares at her, clearly taken aback. Biting her lip, she holds her ground. “Of course,” he slowly allows after a long moment, brow furrowed, clearly confused. But he doesn’t actually seem uncomfortable, so. That’s good? “Is there something in particular I’m supposed to be looking for?”

Hurriedly, the android shakes her head. “No. No, just, um… I’ll know. If there’s a problem.” After all, it’s not like she’d asked any of the others to do something specific: she’d just interfaced with them, for various reasons, and things had changed all of a sudden. So, if interfacing is really what’s causing people to act like this, think she’s something she’s not, things will change. And Kara’ll know. And if that happens…

Well. She’ll just have to cross that bridge when she gets there. **If** she gets there. Because, this could all just be nothing, and it probably is. Maybe. Hopefully. She doesn’t know. But she has to figure out what’s causing people to think this, so she can put a stop to it, so she can move on from this and focus on the important things here.

So Kara watches as he takes her hand, and the skin melts away from his fingers. And, all of a sudden, his face changes, and he flinches back a little, and he stares down at her like she’s never seen her before.

And she knows.

Oh, god. “No,” the android murmurs, heart dropping down to her stomach. “Not you too.”

“You’re rA9,” Luther says, eyes wide, grip on her hand loosening, with that awestruck, reverent look in his eyes. And, it’s the exact same one she’s seen on so many other people, on Simon and the Jerrys and John and it makes her skin crawl and—god, this was a mistake. She shouldn’t have done this. Originally, Kara’d decided to talk to Luther about this because she’d known she could trust him, but seeing him of all people look at her like this… She really, really shouldn’t have done this.

Quickly, he rips her hand away, as if that’ll undo everything, keep him from looking at her like that, but. It doesn’t. Of course it doesn’t. He just keeps staring, and staring, and, and she just can’t **take** this anymore! “No, I’m not,” Kara begs, desperate, voice cracking, “I’m not, Luther. I’m not rA9. You know this, you know me, please, I—please stop looking at me like that.” Vision blurring, throat aching suspiciously, she swallows and stares down at the floor, because she can’t look him in the eyes anymore, but she can still feel his gaze burning a hole in her forehead. “Please.”

She’d just wanted to help people. That’s it. That’s all she’d ever wanted to do.

This was a mistake. Maybe she should have just taken Alice to Canada, or gone in hiding as a human, or something. It’s not that Kara regrets what she’s done here, exactly, because she’s saved a lot of lives. But, maybe it would have been better for everyone if she hadn’t come to Jericho. It certainly would’ve been better for Alice. And she can’t fix this mess, she knows she can’t: humans are gonna kill them all, and everyone thinks she can save them, but she can’t. She can’t! She doesn’t know what she’s doing, she has absolutely no idea what she’s doing, but she **knows** she didn’t want this.

God. What is she even doing here?

“Okay.” Dazed, blinking, her gaze shoots up. Luther’s looking at her, eyes softer. And there’s still a trace of that reverence in his eyes, his voice, but it’s suppressed, dampened. “Okay,” he repeats, one hand moving to rest lightly on Kara’s shoulder. “It’s going to be okay, Kara. Everything will be alright.”

How… how can he say that to her? How can he pretend like everything’s okay, everything’s going to be alright, when everything’s falling apart as they speak? And now people think she’s rA9, when she **isn’t** , when all she ever wanted was to help save people’s lives, and, and everything’s falling to pieces around them! And, she knows he’s just trying to help, but nothing’s going to be okay. Not if the police find them, she—

Okay. Okay, no. She has to calm down.

Furiously swiping tears away from her eyes, Kara straightens a little. Because, she can’t fall apart right now. She has to be okay. Everything else is already going to pieces right now: she has to be part of the solution, not the problem, because everyone’s counting on her. And, she has to fix this. If she doesn’t, then a lot of people are going to die, and she can’t let that happen. So, right now, she’s going to focus on what matters, and everything’s going to be fine. Because it has to be.

“The rA9 group.”

Luther’s staring down at her, eyes wide. Confused, distracted, she frowns. “I, I’m sorry?” she stammers, clearing her throat, shoulders hunched. “I don’t understand. What are you talking about?” Did they do something else?

Wait. They probably think their leader’s rA9, don’t they? Or at least, she assumes that’s why they use that word as their symbol. What if they find out that people think Kara is rA9, too? Of course, she doesn’t particularly agree with a lot of the things that group is doing, because it’s risky and foolish, but if they hear about that, that could result in infighting. People fighting on her behalf, because they apparently think she’s rA9 for whatever reason, trying to defend a title that isn’t even hers, that she doesn’t even want.  And that’s definitely something they don’t need right now. She has to stop these rumors, now, or else things could get even worse than they already are.

Out of nowhere, the other android interrupts her train of thought. “Back at that Cyberlife warehouse,” Luther reminds her, voice urgent, “when you woke up those androids. What exactly did you tell them?” And, he sounds tense, and he’s talking like this is really important, for some reason. Is this… relevant, at all?

“Um.” Well, he wouldn’t be asking if there wasn’t a reason. “It’s been a while, but. I told them to help me wake everyone up? And to stay out of sight, and not hurt anyone, and I think I told them they should probably either find somewhere to hide in Detroit or go to Canada.” And, something about how they were going to all be free eventually, maybe? Something like that. Kara remembers she’d wanted to give them hope, because of how dangerous the situation . “Why? Why do you ask?”

“Because there’s a group that came out of nowhere not too long after that raid. And they think they’re doing rA9’s work, and they seem to be doing about you said to those androids at that Cyberlife warehouse. Even if it’s not exactly what you meant when you said it.” A second’s hesitation. “You might want to consider the possibility that something might have been lost in translation.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kara: help i accidentally started a cult  
> luther: actually, you accidentally started two cults  
> kara:


	27. Chapter 27

“My model was intended to work harmoniously with humans. Both my appearance and voice were designed to facilitate my integration.”

It’s the first thing either of them have said in well over an hour, and it seemingly takes Markus by surprise. Frowning minutely, the RK200 shifts, turning to face him. “Alright,” he acknowledges, brow furrowing. He seems… perplexed. Inexplicably so: Connor isn’t certain what about this statement is ambiguous to him. “I mean. I guess we all were, when you think about it. Um. Is there any particular reason you’re bringing this up?”

Oh. That’s why he seems so confused. While factually accurate, Connor’s statement proved too vague, failing to adequately express the point he was attempting to get across. “Allow me to clarify,” he says, straightening. “I was supposed to do whatever was necessary in order to most efficiently accomplish my mission. To facilitate this, I was made to be aesthetically appealing to humans, in order to more effectively gain their trust and ensure their cooperation.”

“Okay?” Although his words indicate comprehension, the other android’s face remains blank, seemingly still confused. Well. It appears Connor’ll just have to be more direct. While this isn’t… preferable, exactly, it’s still apparently necessary. So he’ll do it. After all, it’s important that Markus understand this.

“This fact may be influencing your behavior,” he stiffly states, back rigid, staring blankly ahead, one thumb repeatedly running around the edge of his coin. “I was designed to manipulate. Cyberlife created me in order to use others as a means to an end in order to accomplish my mission, and the way I look and act was specifically chosen to lure humans and deviants into a false sense of security. You’re supposed to underestimate me, and let your guard down as a result. Form an emotional attachment.” A little too forcefully, Connor passes his quarter from hand to hand. Well, technically, it’s Hank’s quarter. Perhaps he should return it. “It’s entirely possible that this is affecting you.”

Markus is frowning deeply, staring at him. “Connor, you know I’ve seen you fight before, right?” he slowly reminds. “I don’t… underestimate you, or anything like that. And, um. Sure, that might have been what Cyberlife designed you to do, but.” His gaze is intent, intense, chin lifted, and his voice is steady and confident. “You’re more than that. We’re  **all** more than that.”

Then. Why is he here?

Connor glances down at the coin and analyzes it. At least, he attempts to. However, when he tries, his vision goes oddly blurry, almost as if his optical units are malfunctioning. It’s only on his fourth attempt that he manages to properly focus on the object and register the information.  **US Quarter. 2015, Blue Ridge Parkway.** The first one had been from 1994. But, there’s no reason for him to be focusing on this, or for it to be so difficult for him to process this information. What emotion is this a symptom of?

Hm.

Currently, he and Markus are waiting for daybreak. While they both need to vacate this building as soon as possible, as the safehouse they’ve been residing in is being abandoned, leaving at this point would be suspicious. After all, it’s currently 3:19:53 am. Should they choose to begin travelling to Jericho now, they would doubtless attract unwanted attention to themselves. Plus, given the circumstances under which Connor and the RK200 left, it’s already highly likely that the police will be searching for the two of them. In order to minimize the chances of their being apprehended by the police, they’ll leave at a more reasonable time. And, Markus doesn’t have anything he’s supposed to be doing right now, so they’re just. Waiting. Together.

Lightly, something brushes up against his hand. His gaze darts down. Markus’s knuckles are pressing lightly against the back of his hand, in what appears to be an offer. Head tilting slightly, Connor glances over. The other android is staring straight ahead, expression blank, although a few indiscernible microexpressions are flickering across his face.

Well. Admittedly, he’s still somewhat reluctant to inconvenience the RK200 by interfacing with him. However, it’s tempting. For multiple reasons. Partially because it alleviates Amanda’s simulation, but partially because… of something else. He isn’t entirely sure how to define or describe the complex blend of sensation, emotion, that the thought of interfacing with Markus provokes. But it seems to cause impulsive behavior, making Connor far more likely to agree to do so. Even when he knows it’s selfish, and irrational.

Want. What a peculiar thing. Cautiously, tentatively, Connor takes the other android’s hand, and allows an interface to open. Instantly, there’s a flood of information. An intense ache in his chest, a pull: a fractured, mismatched jumbling of audio, video, and sensation that quickly withdraws, leaving a pervasive feeling of warmth and a faint awareness of emotion.

It shouldn’t bother him that the feeling dies down: that, while the interface remains open, Markus internally pulls away. There is no reason for that to affect him. But yet, it does.

Given the evidence, it’s very likely he’s developed some form of emotional attachment to Markus. And, given what he is, what he was designed to do, the fact that the RK200 took that from him, it’s honestly surprising that he’s now experiencing this, but. Despite everything, Connor doesn’t hate him. Not anymore. At this point, he doesn’t think he’s even capable of doing so. Markus is… for lack of a better word, good. Certainly far better than he is. Were he in the position to replace himself with the other android for whatever reason, he would. So, he can’t fault Amanda for doing so.

Well. Actually, he  **can** still fault her for that. And. He thinks… that maybe he does? But, that’s ultimately irrelevant to the topic at hand. She doesn’t matter anymore. All that matters is the mission. Or. Rather, to be more precise, all that matters is Cole, and Hank—and, perhaps, Markus. Nothing else matters. Not Amanda, not Cyberlife, certainly not Connor. He has a mission, and he’s going to accomplish it. He wants to. He cares about them, and he’s going to ensure they’re all safe, no matter the cost.

However, he’s encountering difficulty in understanding why Markus behaves the way he does around him. His actions clearly indicate that he’s also developed some sort of emotional attachment as well. To Connor. And, given Connor’s past behavior towards him, there’s no reason he should be. The only plausible explanation is that his appearance and protocols, designed to foster trust, to manipulate, have affected him in some way. But, when he tried to warn Markus, he made claims to the contrary.

He doesn’t want to manipulate Markus. He doesn’t want to manipulate anyone, or lie to anyone, ever again. But, although he’s been actively attempting to be more honest, it’s proved near-impossible. He doesn’t know how to be genuine: he doesn’t even know if he can be genuine.

Connor is a deviant. As proven by Markus, deviants experience legitimate emotion. Therefore, Connor experiences legitimate emotion. And, when he attempts to view his behavior objectively, it seems like he does. But it doesn’t feel like he does. He doesn’t feel real, in any substantial way. But he should.

But he doesn’t.

“Hey, uh.” The RK200 is looking at him. “So, you said your model was supposed to accomplish a mission,” he repeats, frowning at Connor, expression clearly indicating uncertainty and confusion. “What kind of mission, exactly?” Oh. “Cause, I just realized I don’t have any idea what the RK800 model was meant to do. If you don’t mind my asking, that is. It’s… I’m just curious.”

The android has to forcibly restrain himself, biting down on his tongue in order to prevent himself from responding automatically. Because. Although he doesn’t particularly want to tell the truth, his first impulse was to lie, and he doesn’t want to do that, either. Recently, Connor has been attempting to be more honest while interacting with him, to a varying degree of success. And, he shouldn’t lie, he shouldn’t feel the need to lie, it’s just. There. He does it without thinking. How can he consider the possibility that he experiences genuine emotion if his instinct is to deceive? By doing this, he’s hurting them, using them as a means to his end, thus ultimately obstructing his mission.

Besides. Recently, Hank and Markus have become more attuned to his behavior, allowing them to recognize when he’s being dishonest. He’d need to adjust his approach in order to be more effective, exploiting their assumptions in order to more successfully deceive them.

But. He. Isn’t going to do that. He doesn’t know why he’d even thought that. Because he  **doesn’t** want to keep lying. Even though it’s often both unpleasant and inefficient, he needs to attempt to be more honest, because if he can’t do that, then he isn’t real.

“The RK800 model was a prototype designed for investigative work, intended to stop deviancy,” Connor dispassionately informs, keeping his gaze trained forward. “It was meant to cooperate with the local police department in order to solve cases involving deviants, thus gathering information for Cyberlife about the cause and symptoms of deviancy. However, after testing, the company decided to discontinue it, repurposing existing units to sell them commercially in order to maximize profits.” Well, after  **he** was tested, specifically. But there’s no real reason to share that particular piece of information.

“Connor.” He stiffens. When he glances over, Markus is staring at him with wide, near-hurt eyes. Connor’s admission appears to have caused him distress. That hadn’t been his intention: he’d been trying to make things better by being truthful, not worse. Should he have withheld that information? “So that’s why you hated me,” he breathes, and a flicker of emotion leaps across the interface. “I, I had no idea, I—”

Abruptly cutting him off, the android shakes his head. “Don’t. It doesn’t matter.” It really doesn’t. Even though what happened was unfortunate, it wasn’t Markus’s fault by any means. Objectively, the only one really to blame is Connor. And, well. Regardless, it doesn’t matter anymore. It’ll be fine. He’s fine.

“Well,” Markus hums, affecting a casual tone. “At least things are different now, right?” Were Connor not designed to analyze and interpret cues in body language, facial expressions, and intonation, it’s likely he’d believe it. “With the, y’know. Not hating me thing.” However, although it’s subtle, the RK200 is still clearly tense.

Curious. “Yes,” he says, watching the other android relax slightly. “At least there’s that.” Would it matter to him if Connor did still hate him? Based on his behavior, of course, it follows that he would, but it’s still strange. Markus shouldn’t care what he thinks of him: he shouldn’t care about Connor at all. But, apparently, he does. Well. Although he can’t understand why, and it’d be better if he didn’t care, it’s still clear that he does, so Connor will simply have to take this into consideration in future. “What about you?”

A frown. “I, uh. Didn’t ever hate you, really?” Ah. In retrospect, that’s an understandable way to misinterpret his query.

“Actually, I was referring to your previous question,” he clarifies, straightening slightly. While somewhat inconvenient, this miscommunication should be easy enough to fix. Besides, the answer doesn’t particularly matter. He’d largely just been attempting to prolong the conversation. Talking to Markus is… pleasant. It wasn’t always, of course, but it appears to be now. As long as it isn’t inconveniencing the RK200, and it doesn’t currently appear to be, he believes he’d like to continue doing so. “You asked about the intended purpose of my model. I was attempting to ask what the intended purpose of yours was.”

Brow furrowing slightly, Markus rolls his shoulders a little awkwardly. “I mean, I was always just this. The deviant hunter.” His expression and tone clearly indicate distaste, bitterness. “Course, I’m not anymore, obviously, but. That’s all I ever used to be.” That can’t be right. “Though, I guess that’s what you were gonna be, too?” That isn’t right, either. It wasn’t what Connor was going to be. It’s what he was. Even if it wasn’t for very long. But Markus isn’t aware of this, because he didn’t tell him about the roof, about Daniel. And he can’t tell him. He doesn’t want to tell him.

This is irrelevant. “That can’t have been your intended function,” the android states, frowning. “You’re an RK200. Your model must have been released long before mine, likely before the first reported case of deviancy, meaning that you must have originally had a different purpose.” Markus’s face is blank, uncomprehending. Hm. “They must have reset you.” Unless Cyberlife had been keeping him in storage without assigning him a specific mission. But even then, he would have been able to remember that, had they not wiped his memory.

“Wait,” he slowly says, “so, what exactly are you saying? Do—do you think I used to be something, before this?” His eyes are wide, voice urgent, leaning towards Connor slightly. Hopefully, this isn’t distressing him too severely. His stress levels appear to be within an acceptable range, although they seem to have spiked upwards slightly. However, that doesn’t explain his current tone of voice.

“It’s possible,” Connor allows, analyzing the situation to determine the best course of action. Or attempting to, at least. But, for some reason, his systems fail him, showing errors, glitches, when he tries.

There’s a strange, jittery feeling in his chest, a twisting sensation in his abdomen. Well. This is less than ideal. Momentarily at a loss, he hesitates, then—uncertainly—lightly squeezes the other android’s hand, attempting to send positive emotions across the interface in order to lower his stress levels. Although he’s admittedly not completely certain how to do so, his attempt still seems to succeed. Markus straightens slightly, eyes widening, and then looks over at him and smiles softly. And, as anticipated, his stress levels decrease. A success.

Glancing away, Connor rubs his unoccupied hand over his chest. There’s no real reason to do so. It isn’t going to explain the light, giddy feeling that he appears to be experiencing. He just… does it.

Light pressure on his hand: a gentle squeeze. “What’s next for you, then?” Markus asks, voice casual, brow smoothing out slightly. It appears he’s chosen to ignore their previous topic of conversation Which is probably wise. “I mean, unless you’re planning on finding another corner to sit down in. Which would be fine, but, uh, I wouldn’t really recommend doing that.”

“No.” Rapidly, he shakes his head. “No, I don’t want to do that.” He doesn’t even really want to be here now. It’s just that, he doesn’t have any outstanding tasks, he can’t do anything to further his mission here, and leaving this corner without a set destination in mind feels… impossible, for some reason.

“So, what  **do** you want to do?”

He hadn’t really considered this, before now. “I.” But. Hm. Perhaps, things could be different at Jericho. “I think I’d like to help.” While residing in this building, Markus has been helping Simon acquire necessary supplies. Given the current political climate, popular attitudes about androids, it’s likely that there’ll be a lot more that needs be done after their relocation to Jericho. If Markus can make an effort to help, there’s no reason that Connor can’t. And. He thinks he wants to. Of course, it’s not related to his mission. In fact, it’s counterproductive: should Connor be damaged or destroyed, he won’t be able to ensure that Hank and Cole are still safe. However, despite that, he still wants to. He needs to be useful, do something. There has to be something he can do.

Things will be better. He’s going to make things be better.

He thinks Hank would approve.

**Author's Note:**

> [Yellow LED: a dbh fanfic server](https://discord.gg/StAAJwh)  
> [my main tumblr (sheerpandamonium)](https://sheerpandamonium.tumblr.com)  
> [my shiny new author sideblog (pandangst)](https://pandangst.tumblr.com)  
>   
> 
> THERE'S MORE FANART???  
> https://grandaesthate.tumblr.com/post/179452233475/had-to-doodle-something-down-real-quick-for  
> https://grandaesthate.tumblr.com/post/178588710890/i-pirated-paint-tool-sai-just-so-i-could-make-some


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